The Fett Dynasty, Episode II : Siege of Orri Prime
by wltdnfaded
Summary: Coming down to the wire, folks- bear with me! Some questions answered, more raised...Major AU. Warning: adult themes, sexual situations, violence, language.
1. Something Wicked This Way Comes

The Fett Dynasty, Episode 2

The Siege of Orri Prime

Chapter One

Something Wicked This Way Comes

_He was startled awake by the sound of the door. His hand instinctively went to the weapon at the side of his bed, but he stopped when he heard the familiar voice._

_ "Please don't. It's me."_

_He sat up. "What…what are you doing here?"_

The anguish in the young voice was unmistakable, the terror in it. "Please, don't send me away."

_He could hear her move closer to the bed in the dark, and he fought to restrain the surge of want through his veins. His tone remained guarded. "You…must go. You can't be here. By the gods, how did you get here…?"_

_Suddenly she collapsed to her knees beside the bed and laid her head in his lap as she sobbed. He wanted to touch that beautiful flowing hair…_

_"I'm begging you, let me stay…I'm so frightened…. everyday it gets worse."_

_He thought his heart would stop right there from rage. "Has he hurt you?" She didn't answer, but her hands clenched the bed sheets at the question. He gripped her arms, pulling her up more roughly than he intended. He repeated, "Has he hurt you?" _

_Again, no answer. Rather, she reached up and touched his face, his lips…_

_He flinched, in spite of himself. The smell of her hair and the depth of her eyes again, as always, flooded him with desire, intoxicated him…_

_"This can't happen…please, go."_

_"You don't want me to go." She reached with both hands, cradling his face. "It should have been you. Why, why wasn't it you? You wanted me, I know you did…"_

_His head began to swim. He felt his control waning, replaced by nothing more than raw need. He gripped her wrists with the intention of pushing her away, but instead, he found himself pulling her up onto the bed. Her face was mere centimeters from his own, and her breath was clean, sweet, warm…_

_Her voice was a soft, liquid lullaby. "All those years ago, when we first met…we were both so young, so misguided…what were we fighting for?" Her hand slid from his face to his bare chest. He shuddered from her touch, as he had craved it for so long. "We should have fought for us, fought to be together."_

"Please," he whispered, "I can't do this…please don't do this…it's not right…" But he felt so weak suddenly…

_Her lips were almost touching his now, her voice low and hypnotic. "Let me stay tonight, just tonight. I can't go back. Please, hold me…please, I'm begging you…"_

_Before he could stop himself, he crushed her against himself, taking her sweet lips in a starved kiss. He tangled his hand into her plush hair. She returned the kiss, running her hands across his bare chest and shoulders. Pressing herself into him, she laid him back on the mattress, then shifted her legs to straddle him as she began undoing the delicate lace of her bodice._

_His eyes were closed and his breathing ragged and coarse as he whispered, "Padme…"_

_She lifted her head just enough to catch the moonlight on her pale face, her dark hair, her eyes… her expression twisted into a snarl of animal lust…her eyes of deepest brown that suddenly swirled and morphed into hot, gleaming points of fire red and wan yellow… and she hoarsely whispered…_

_"Obi-wan…"_

Leia was soaked in sweat as she bolted up in her bed with a hard gasp. She jumped again when she felt a palm on her back—

"Sweetheart," Han whispered, his voice gravelly from sleep, "what's the matter?"

She exhaled sharply, suddenly aware that she was awake. "Oh, Han…I'm sorry, I woke you."

He lightly caressed her naked back, but wore a look of concern. "It's OK, honey. What's wrong?"

"I…I just had a dream, that's all."

"A nightmare?"

She sighed. "Well, not exactly…"

Han inched closer to Leia, wrapping his hand around her waist. "One of _those_ dreams, hmm?" His grin became mischievous as he pressed himself up to kiss her neck…

Only to have her jerk away from him. "Han, stop it!" 

He pulled back, a little hurt. "It was bad, wasn't it?"

"Yes… it was," she murmured as she hugged her knees.

Han gingerly stroked her loose chestnut hair as he tried to ease her. "Sweetheart, tell me."

"It…" she trailed off for a moment as she stared straight ahead at the bedchamber wall, listening to the muffled sounds of airspeeders traveling through the Coruscant night.

Han waited for a moment. "Yes?"

"It was about…my mother..."

* * *

"_DISCHARGED??"_ Burl bellowed, his booming voice ricocheting off the walls of I'Lai's sun drenched office.

Despite her best intentions to remain calm and collected, I'Lai could feel her knuckles whitening under the tension of her folded hands on her desk. She glanced sideways to Lando Calrissian, who met her eyes with equal unease.

"You showed up to your post drunk, Burl," I'Lai replied quietly and simply. "We just can't have that, and we can't take the chance of it happening again. I'm sorry."

"Doesn't even matter that he beat me up, huh?"

"You provoked and threatened an unarmed man with a weapon," Lando retorted. "You seem to forget that Boba Fett is not technically a prisoner here. If it had been me, I would have defended myself as well."

"He took the gun, you know!"

Lando nodded. "Yes, we know all that. That has been dealt with."

Burl's jowls slumped into a pout as he muttered, "He stepped on my face…"

I'Lai raised her hand to her mouth as she stifled her laugh through her nose.

"So," Burl muttered, "what am I supposed to do now?"

"Your position is still available in the mines, if you wish to take it back," I'Lai offered.

Burl's fleshy face turned a dark red. "The _mines_? I don't wanna go back there!"

"You can do whatever you wish, Burl," said Lando. "You don't have to go back to mining, but as of now, you are no longer a recruit in the Orri Prime militia. I'm sorry. You are dismissed."

Burl stood for a moment, looking quite broken. He heaved his bulk toward the door when he stopped and turned back to I'Lai. There was a mix of great disappointment and bitter anger in his eyes. "You were our angel, Lady I'Lai. We all loved you on this planet. What's happened to you?"

I'Lai shifted slightly in her seat, and Lando could see that Burl's remark cut her deeply. Angrily, he growled, "She cut you a break and you betrayed her trust, that's what happened. DISMISSED."

Grimacing, Burl stomped out the door.

Lando turned to I'Lai, who simply stared down at her desk. "Don't listen to him, I'Lai. He's a drunk."

"He's a good man, Lando. He's just angry, that's all."

Lando stepped over to her desk, folding his arms and sitting lightly on the edge. "I'Lai, I think sometimes you see more good in people than is wise."

I'Lai caught the double entendre in that statement as well as the look in his eye. "Meaning what, exactly?" She sighed. "You don't think I should let him leave, do you?" He didn't answer. "He gave me his word, Lando—"

"The word of Boba Fett?" he snorted. "I'd just as soon take the word of a Jawa selling me a half-chopped droid."

I'Lai stiffened in her seat. Although she didn't understand the reference completely, she knew it was meant to be derogatory. "That's not fair, Lando. He's done nothing but cooperate since his internment here began."

"Until he pulled this little stunt with Burl."

"Yes, well…" She realized she stammered a little as she fondly recalled how that strange evening ended. She cleared her throat as she continued, "You and I both understand why he did that. He just…needed to blow off some steam."

"Well, he should have gone through the proper channels if he wanted to target practice."

Huffing, I'Lai folded her own arms across her chest. "I don't know about you, but I am growing a little tired of treating the most infamous bounty hunter in the galaxy like a sheltered schoolgirl. Especially when he is my lover and the father of my son."

"Yes, I'm aware of the facts, I'Lai." Lando muttered coldly.

Although she had purposely blocked the Force from her essence throughout the entire meeting, I'Lai couldn't help but feel the intensity of emotions coming from Lando, especially that of envy. "Lando…" she said softly with just a trace of warning laced around her tone.

Lando ran his hand through his hair before springing up from the desk. "I'Lai, I'm sorry, but…I just don't trust him. You haven't seen what he is capable of. I have." He turned and leaned on the desk, facing her. "I can't help thinking he's just _using_ you to get off this planet—"

The old-fashioned glass garden doors suddenly flew open. Before either in the room realized it, Boba Fett had stormed into the office. He grabbed Lando by the collar with both fists and planted him with a resounding THUD against the wall. "How about this, Calrissian?" Fett spat into his face, "How about I use _you_ for target practice?"

"Boba!" I'Lai cried out, springing from her chair.

Lando struggled under Fett's grip. "Is eavesdropping just another of your many talents, Fett?"

Fett snickered bitterly as he tightened his grip. "You wouldn't live an hour through my many talents, Calrissian."

"Boba, stop it!" I'Lai demanded as she tried to pull him off her security chief.

Fett snapped his head toward his lover and snarled, "Stay out of this, I'Lai!"

"You're just begging for a holding cell, aren't you, Fett!" Lando spat back. He reached for his blaster...

"Lando, no!"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Calrissian? Lock me away so you can get your greasy claws on her?" He pushed Lando up even further on the wall, blocking his air. "You think I haven't seen the way you look at her—"

"You don't deserve someone like her, Fett!" Lando choked out. Despite his lack of air, Lando drew his blaster. "Get your grubby hands off me or I'll—"

"You'll what? Kill me? Try it, you gutless prick! I'll snap your neck like a —"

"Both of you! STOP IT! STOP IT!"

Fett felt as though a Wookiee had just grabbed his hands and flung them to the sides while kicking him in the gut. Lando's blaster flew out of his hand and skidded across the marble floor. He slid down the wall, barely catching his feet and fighting to catch his breath. Fett stumbled back, hitting the desk's edge. He shifted his glare to I'Lai, who held her fists at her sides, shaking. She held his glare in her own blazing eyes, never flinching. She heard Fett's unspoken words loud and clear through her mind…

Never do that to me again, I'Lai.

I'Lai ignored the warning as she growled, "Enough! You are both acting like vicious children! I will not tolerate this, from either of you!" She shot her glare toward Lando. "Please remember that I am governor of this system. Boba Fett is in my custody, and I hold final say in the release of any detainee here." She then shot her glare back to Fett. "And you are not helping your case by this outburst of violence! Refrain yourself!"

Fett still held Lando in his murderous glare and donned a dangerous smile as he hissed, "As you wish, my Lady."

Lando let out a low and bitter laugh as he rubbed his throat. "And you want to unleash THAT back out into the galaxy, I'Lai?"

"Lando, let me handle this!" I'Lai snapped. "It is more than apparent that this arrangement is no longer viable, and it is time to end it!" She walked back to her desk and sat down. After switching on the hologram recorder, she folded her hands as she turned to Fett, her tone again serene yet firm. "Boba Fett, will you give me your parole in front of this witness, swearing your solemn oath that you bear no threat whatsoever to General Han Solo, Princess Leia Organa, Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, or Baron Lando Calrissian?" 

Fett turned and looked directly into the recorder lens, his expression cold and unfeeling. "I swear it, Lady."

"Baron Calrissian, as witness, do you acknowledge the oath presented here by Boba Fett?"

Lando straightened his uniform, holding his glare on Fett, as he stated, "I acknowledge the oath of parole presented."

"Very good. Therefore, as acting governor of the Dia-Orri system, I declare that Boba Fett is a free citizen unless he breaks his oath of parole, to which he will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of New Republic law." She switched off the recorder and turned to Fett. "You may go now, Master Fett."

Before he left, Fett shot once last vicious look at Calrissian. Then he was gone.

I'Lai watched him walk out, and remained quiet for a few moments before saying, "There. It is done." She removed the tiny disk from the recorder and handed it toward Lando. "You may send this copy to Leia Organa on Coruscant."

Lando breathed a sigh through his nose as he accepted the disk. "Are you prepared for the response from Coruscant?"

"I am prepared for the reproach, if that's what you mean."

"I'Lai…" Lando said softly, then let his voice trail. I'Lai allowed him a moment to continue. Pursing his lips, he blurted softly, "I just hope you know what you're doing. So far, you have proven yourself a wise, just, and efficient leader. I advise you strongly that you don't let your personal feelings cloud your judgment."

I'Lai never averted her glare when she said lowly, "You're telling me not to get personal?"

The tension was thick between the two friends, hanging in the room like a mild stench. Finally, I'Lai rose from her seat and broke the silence. "I must attend to my son now, Lando. I think you know the way out." With that, she strode out the door into the corridor, leaving Lando alone in her office. He sauntered to the blaster on the floor, re-holstered it, and leaned against the wall and let out a heavy sigh.

She rubbed her temples as she walked, as they had grown tight from strain over the entire incident. This was becoming stressful to the point of mildly maddening. Would her comrades and her lover ever get over the wounds of their past encounters? Would they ever find common ground, a common cause…?

She had walked only a few paces toward Kai's nursery when a lightening-quick hand shot forth from a recessed doorway and yanked her in. She was about to shriek when another hand clamped on her mouth. As her eyes focused on the face in front of her, her instant fear switched to irritation. The hand lowered from her mouth.

"Boba", she tightly whispered, "don't do that."

Fett glowered into her eyes. "Now you know what if feels like."

She huffed a sigh. "I'm sorry I did that to you. I swear I'll never do it again."

"You better not. I have accepted your power, I'Lai. But I have also made it clear that you will never use that sorcery on me."

"If you controlled your temper, I wouldn't have to!" she admonished in an edgy whisper. Fett glared, and she immediately gave ground. "I didn't know what else to do. The situation was becoming dangerous. I can't have you and Lando coming to blows over…over me."

"He accused me of using you. He dishonored us both with that remark." He looked down and gazed at the subtle pulse-point at her throat. "I don't trust him."

She tilted her head slightly. "The feeling is mutual." She touched the short scar on his chin. "But you're free now, Boba."

"Yes." He paused, then swallowed hard. Taking a deep breath, he met I'Lai's gaze and murmured quietly, "Thank you."

I'Lai's eyes widened in quiet surprise. "You are welcome." She smiled softly. "First you apologize to me, and now you thank me…?"

Fett furrowed his brow for a second, but then let his mouth curve into a slight smirk. "Tell no one. I have a reputation to uphold." He reached for her face at first, then slid his hand downwards to her breast as he pressed her against the small wall of the doorway…

She flinched a bit and giggled. "Boba, not here…"

"Why not?"

She looked at him with huge eyes. "Someone could see us."

"Yes, someone could," he breathed into her ear.

Her gape only became broader. "You, Master Fett, are insatiable."

Fett cocked his head and smirked again. "And you, Lady I'Lai, are a bit of a prude."

"I am not!" she giggled. Her giggle turned into a soft groan as Fett fondled her long neck with his lips, his hand cupping her full breast. 

"Prove it."

She shot a nervous glance toward the corridor, listening for footsteps, before taking up his challenge. "Midday meal in my chambers?"

Fett's response was nothing more than the subtle curl of a greedy smile.

* * *

Nikoa approached I'Lai's chamber doors with Kai in her arms, as scheduled. She was about ring the chimes when she heard the unmistakable wail of sensual pleasure resound from the other side. It had obviously come from I'Lai.

Patting baby Kai on the back, the old woman murmured, "Well…we'll give them five more minutes then, won't we, Kai?" Kai gurgled his acknowledgement, and Nikoa's expression creased into a darkly satisfied smile as she padded once again down the hall.__

_* * *_

_It danced, this figure. Silhouetted against air and scarlet light, moving and weaving within the maw of a cavern. Undistracted by raging winds that bombarded with millions of infinitesimal spearheads of black sand, the form continued to perform its dance, though no music could be heard. Was there some dark hymn to be heard within the sandblasted tempest? Or did it dance to a song within the heart, the soul of the being, silent to any ears that may exist to hear it? _

_The darkened form before the red light seemed humanoid, naked, and quite male. It appeared upon first glance that his hair was short, structured into symmetrical spikes. His body was sleek, honed, an instrument itself of muscle, flesh, and bone in which he played to perfection the song of his dance. Sinews stretched, muscles pumped, joints flexed to extremes no mere human could possibly tolerate._

_A leap, a squat, a flip effortlessly back to balance on nimble toes. A strike, a pose, a release…the observer gasped, realizing this was no dance. It was rather a kata, a melee ritual unmistakably familiar, and yet grossly disturbing…_

_A leap and twirl high, high upon the precipice of the maw, and upon descent, the figure held something in his hand…it too appeared familiar, all to familiar, until…_

_He ignited it. Not one, but two shafts of energy sliced the sand-drenched air from each end of the saber like red fangs of light. The saber's recognized hum now doubled as the figure performed the kata of the weapon; a beautiful, ancient weapon, not used for several millennia, for it was far too difficult and dangerous to wield with any expertise…by anyone who was not of the Sith…_

_Yes, this was the weapon of the Sith. The ancient Sith, the Sith of thousands of years before any Empire, any Republic, before any union of worlds at all. In a time when there were no politics, no governments, when there were only two factions who warred—the Light and the Dark. The Jedi and the Sith._

_And the being performed the ancient kata of the weapon as though it spoke a language, a language of rage, of sorrow, of pain, of power. Of rivers of blood. Of worlds on fire. _

_He twirled the saber, so quickly at times he seemed encased in a sphere of red light. He moved it, almost impossibly, between leg and limb, over his head, around his fluidly muscled body, never once touching his own flesh with the deadly blades. At one point, he stepped out from the shadows into the red fire light outside the maw's lip, and the observer first glanced his features. And recoiled._

_Completely covered he was, from foot to scalp, in scarlet and black jagged stripes, obviously laid there during hundreds of days by thousands of needles. In the light, it was revealed that he had no hair at all; the "spikes" on his head were actually small horns. The soles of his feet, his palms, nor his privates had been spared the tattoo, not even his face or the tips of his horns. He threw back his head and smiled at the wind, his constant companion, revealing sharpened fangs of purest ivory. He was repulsive. He was beautiful._

_His kata was complete. He raised his weapon with both hands above his head, stretching his taut self even further, rippling his muscles to the point they seemed they would burst from the terrifying tapestry of his skin. It was at this moment he finally acknowledged the observer in a voice so smooth, so silken it belied his monstrous visage…_

_"Vader-spawn…"_

_When the blood-chilling screech of a woman pierced the observer's ears and filled the cavern from top to bottomless eternity, the Zabrak laughed…_

Luke's eyes snapped open so violently they bulged from his skull. He stared blindly at the ceiling his bedchamber until he finally remembered to take a breath.

He sat up slowly. He sniffed. His sinuses convulsed at the assault of sulfur.

He rubbed his chest. It was tight. He suddenly felt a gritty slickness on his skin. He felt his arms, his shoulders…he seemed completely covered in the oily, putrid substance and its reek.

Luke rose from his bed and headed to the fresher, never even bothering to don his robe, all the while trying to fight the nausea rising up his gullet. He stepped into the stall. "Hot—very hot." The console obeyed, drenching him in steaming water. He leaned against the fresher wall, head on his arm.

The feeling was now stronger than ever. He had felt it for months since the Alliance victory at Endor. At first it was no more significant than a mild tension headache may seem, and he attributed the feeling to aftershocks within the Force, as the life-energies of two powerful Sith Lords dissipated back into the universal realm. But instead of weakening, it had been growing stronger…and now it pulsed through his spirit, sickening him, unnerving him…now it was invading his dreams…

There was no denying the presence that was still somewhere, somehow, out there…

* * *

_Hang on, Hunter…not yet…think of…new armor plating…for the ship…damn…_

And thus Fett tortured himself and held his release down as he watched his lover twist and cry through her own sensual release for the seventh time that hour.

He held I'Lai by the small of her back as she arced ferociously in his lap, her legs wrapped around his torso, her face clenched in agonized ecstasy. Too entrenched in her own passions to notice, she dug her nails in and down Fett's already-scarred bare chest. He winced slightly from the action, but was not exactly upset by it…

He narrowed his black eyes as he watched her. He was pleased--very pleased. Over the last few days, since they had mated for the first time since Kai's conception, his and I'Lai's lovemaking had become…more rounded, to say the least.

In a quiet conversation days earlier, I'Lai admitted that although she had been raised and trained in the Imperial Courtesan Discipline, she had been part of the Emperor's Gift Trove. Meaning, that she had been cultivated only to be bestowed upon a particularly well-deserving member of the Court. Thus, she had slept with only one other man her entire life and that had been Grand Moff Reynau Denivrian, the former governor and owner of Orri Prime, a man literally old enough to be her grandfather. She had explained to Fett that she had arrived at his palace at the age of sixteen--and a virgin intact… 

Knowing this, Fett attempted to remain gentle with her at first, not wishing to rattle her aristocratic sensibilities or alarm her with his own immodest and worldly sexual tastes. But as the days progressed, I'Lai herself became more…aggressive as she grew more confident of his affection for her and less insecure of her own physical desires, with little to no coaching from him.

And he was reaping the rewards of his patience as they now feverishly enjoyed each other right there in his chair at the dining table, their clothing only half-removed, and the midday meal still waiting on the food cart…and as I'Lai began her descent from her ecstasy, Fett could no longer hold his own and released. 

Panting heavily, her shoulders and bare breasts glistening with sweat, I'Lai managed to utter through ragged breaths, "Boba…stop…I have to stop…please…"

Fett smiled—an action that was becoming more familiar to him as the days went on in I'Lai's company. He pulled her gently into a more comfortable sitting position on him, resting her head on his shoulder, nuzzling her neck, enjoying the warmth of her naked breasts against his chest.

As she fought to catch her breath, I'Lai whispered, "Our food is getting cold."

"There's food?"

I'Lai laughed into his shoulder. "Maybe your leaving isn't so bad. Any more of this and you'll damage me."

"I think," he rumbled into her neck as he stroked her loose curls, "you need a little damaging, my fair courtesan."

She moaned at the touch of his voice and the erotic play of his words against her neck. She slid her hands under his half-opened shirt, down his back, feeling the heat of his skin…the heat…he was so warm…

She delighted in the play of muscle under his taut skin, and she could swear she actually felt them grow harder and larger under her hands. His skin grew hotter, almost searing her tender flesh…she ran her fingers up his neck, to the base of his skull and realized she felt no hair as her head began to swim…something was wrong, but she couldn't tell…

Her fingers traveled over his scalp—his hair was gone, replaced by the hard nubs of small horns…

Slowly, very slowly, she lifted her head, and froze in horror. She found herself gaping into a face mutilated by slashes of red and black with two eyes of scarlet and gold. The face snarled, showing his fangs. His voice was rich and hot as molten lava, and he smiled as he growled quietly, savagely…

"_Beloved_…"

I'Lai's humanness wanted to scream, to fight her way off him—but she couldn't tear her eyes away, couldn't move her head, couldn't scream, couldn't breathe… she felt nails—no, claws—scrape down her back, shredding her skin…the light in the room turned from cool blue to fire red… minuscule missiles of searing sand accosted her body…and the Force, her calming and constant companion, now screamed around her like the howls of fallen seraphim—

"I'Lai?"

Fett's voice snapped her back. She jerked. The chamber was again cool blue from the afternoon sun. Her lover was still beneath her, holding her, his face again familiar and human, his skin again cool and soothing…

Fett cupped her face in both his hands, his eyes heavy with worry. "I'Lai…" he whispered hoarsely, "Where are you?"

She blinked a few times, trying to refocus. "What?"

"What happened just now? You were in a trance."

He felt her tremble as she whispered, "It was nothing, Boba…"

She wasn't being truthful. His eyes narrowed into black slits. "It's that sorcery, isn't it?"

"If you mean the Force…then yes, I think I just experienced…a ripple." She smiled a soft, reassuring smile. "I'm beginning to understand why the Jedi refrained from…sexual over-stimulation. Luke told me it could tend to…" a breath, "scatter one's focus in the Force if not properly controlled." His face darkened at the mention of the Jedi. I'Lai felt her frustration peak again. "Boba…please…I just lost focus for a moment, that's all." She moved off him and readjusted her gown around herself.

He continued to stare at her as he refastened his own clothing. Despite her protests to the contrary, he could see that she was shaken and unnerved…

The door chimed. Taking a quick scan insuring she and Fett were properly dressed, she called out, "Come in."

The doors slid open, allowing Nikoa to enter, baby Kai in her arms. She beamed brightly at the two as she said, "I don't think the little man here can wait any longer for his lunch. He's getting awfully grumpy."

I'Lai smiled and blushed as she reached for Kai—only to have Fett intercept Nikoa's pass. "There's my boy!" He grabbed the baby under the arms and tossed him lightly over his head several times. Kai giggled and squealed, kicking wildly.

I'Lai clutched her chest. "Boba, be careful!" Fett lowered him to his chest, and I'Lai saw a grin on his face broader than any she had seen thus far. It warmed her to her soul.

"He can handle it," Fett replied. "See." After a bit of readjusting, Fett had Kai hanging on to each of his index fingers, swinging him to and fro. Kai squealed again in great fun.

She massaged her chest, wearing an expression mixed of extreme pride and great motherly concern. "Is it…normal for a fourth-month old child to be that strong?"

Fett looked up at her, curving his lip in a knowing smile. "It is if he's a Fett." He carried Kai over to I'Lai by the fingers, gingerly handing him over. 

"I'Lai," Nikoa timidly interrupted, "Will you need me to remain? I have some things to take care of."

She smiled to her lady's maid. "No, Nikoa, thank you. Go on." Nikoa bowed slightly and departed. She unbuttoned her gown a bit to expose her breast. Kai wriggled to it, clamping on the nipple, enjoying his lunch.

Fett sat in the far chair at the table and watched in silence. I'Lai looked up to see to his eyes dark and his expression pensive, but she couldn't read his thoughts. He had thrown up the barrier.

Taking a deep breath while stroking Kai's head, she murmured, "Tomorrow, then?"

He nodded. "Yes."

A pause. "For how long?"

"We've discussed this, I'Lai." She closed her eyes and lowered her head. He sighed. "I will keep in contact. Just remember, you must use the code I gave you when you respond."

"I will," she replied, her voice laced with a tinge of sadness.

He rose and moved toward her and Kai, kneeling beside them. He touched her face, his tone reassuring. "Not long, I'Lai." He laid his palm on Kai's head, repeating, "Not long."

She leaned into his hand and a hint of a smile curved her mouth. "Can you give me any indication where you're going?"

He allowed that question to slide. He mimicked her smile. "Shopping."

* * *

Burl threw the last of his clothes into the traveling sack with a grunt of disgust. Back to the mines, back to the filth and the grime, back to the dank little sleeping room at his brother's house, and back to the bitching of his brother's fat wife. Dammit…

There was a knock on his door. Burl raised his head only slightly as he bellowed, "I'm going already! Gimme a minute—"

"Burl, it's Lady I'Lai's maid," came the voice from the other side. Burl straightened up and furrowed his brow. The voice continued, "I've brought you something to drink, if you like."

He lumbered toward the door of his small quarters and opened it. There stood Nikoa, wearing a soft maternal smile, holding a small steaming mug in her hand. Her smile broadened as she said, "I thought maybe you could use a little cheering up."

He heaved a sigh and ran his big hand through his hair. "Uh, thanks. Thanks a lot. I sure could use a belt right now."

"It's tea, Burl."

"Oh," he muttered, his face falling in disappointment.

Handing him the cup, she patted his arm. "Well, try it anyway. You may actually like it." She padded through the door, taking in the small space. "Well, this is…nice here, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Nicest place I ever lived. Look, there's even a window. Got to see some pretty sunsets here." His expression turned into a pout. "Well, won't get to see those no more." He took a big swig of the tea.

Nikoa looked at him with sympathetic eyes. "Oh, Burl, of course you will, silly. The sun won't stop setting just because you're not in the palace anymore."

"No, I'll be working in the mines second shift again. Didn't get to see a sunset for fifteen years. And now I won't again." He shook his head a little and raised his eyebrows. "Hey, this stuff ain't bad, huh? Got a little kick to it!"

"Well, it's my own blend." Nikoa reached up and chucked the brawny man's chin. She sighed. "Life can be so unfair, can't it, Burl? A person makes one little mistake, and gets tossed aside like so much refuse…"

Burl looked at Nikoa with glazed eyes. "Yeah…I didn't drink that much. Just a little taste of the hooch that Corellian gave me. Course, he did say it was strong stuff, but…I ain't never come across hooch I couldn't handle before. He was a nice guy—said it was a consolation gift for having to guard that son of a bitch bounty hunter." He laughed a little, but then swooned off his balance…

"Oh, Burl! Here, let me help you…" Nikoa gently took his arm and led him to the cot. Burl sat, confused and woozy. The cup fell from his hand to the floor, spilling the brew. Burl just stared glassy-eyed toward the floor.

Nikoa sat next to him, still smiling softly. After a moment, she murmured, "Burl, can you hear me?" Burl grunted. "Good. Now, you really don't want to go back to the mines, do you?"

"No…" he muttered as he swayed back and forth.

"Wouldn't you rather get off this world, see the galaxy a bit, and be a part of a new galactic order?" Nikoa's voice was as smooth and sultry as aged Alderaani wine.

"Yeah…yeah…that sounds…good…"

"Then listen to me carefully. You will take your things to the Atimbora Township Space Port tonight. There will be a supply freighter leaving for the Tennhausen Gate—your passage has already been booked. From there you will book passage, in any way you can, to Ord Mantell. Do you comprehend, Burl?"

"Yah…"

"Excellent. Once there, you will be more than willing to share the information you know regarding Boba Fett and this planet. But you will only talk to those involved with…" She leaned close into his ear, "Black Sun. Remember that, Burl."

Burl nodded, mouth open, eyes staring straight ahead. "Black Sun…yah…"

She lightly stroked his ear, the motherly smile still apparent in her voice. "You may have been too dim-witted for this kind of work, Burl…but my Master needs such puny-minded reprobates such as yourself to be his foot soldiers. Upon your backs will he build the foundation of his long-awaited glory." 

She rose. "In a few minutes, you won't even remember I was here. But you will remember everything I told you, won't you? You moronic waste of carbon?" He nodded sluggishly. With that, Nikoa smiled, gingerly picked up the fallen cup, and murmured, "Fair travels." She softly padded out the door.

* * *


	2. Departures, Destinations, and Dex's Dine...

Episode 2

Chapter 2

Departures, Destinations, and Dex's Diner

DISCLAIMER: Based on characters and situations created by George Lucas. All characters (sans those of author's creation) belong to George Lucas and Lucasfilm, Ltd. and I make no financial gains whatsoever by the work presented here.

They walked slowly through the tunnel, side-by-side, with Fett carrying the last of his gear and I'Lai carrying Kai in a soft sling around her body. She had suggested taking the roundabout so he wouldn't have to carry all his things but Fett refused, saying he would rather walk to his ship. This had made her smile, despite her melancholy. Since he had spent much of the morning as well as the previous night inspecting and tuning his ship and loading supplies, she knew in her heart he wanted to spend this time with her and Kai before he departed.

The doors of stone and steel slid open as they approached, and they quietly walked through into the massive chamber of Grand Mountain Hall. Docked just on the edge of the small indoor lake was the _Slave I_.

Fett stopped I'Lai from nearing any closer with a gesture. She stood and waited as he approached his ship and, as he drew closer, she saw two bursts of green light shoot forth from the hull. The light formed a graph over him, running up and down his form several times. As suddenly as it appeared, the light vanished, and the ramp of the ship slowly descended to the cavern floor. It was then he turned and gestured for her to come to him.

They did not say a word. They simply looked into each other's eyes as Fett touched I'Lai's face, running his thumb over the delicate curve of her cheekbone and cupping her chin. She opened her mouth and took a breath as though to speak, but Fett gently placed a finger on her lips and shook his head. He leaned into her and took her lips in a tender kiss. 

Breaking away, he cupped Kai's small face and leaned his forehead against his baby boy's, and I'Lai heard him whisper something in a language she did not recognize. If she had, she would have known it to be archaic Mandelorian, with the words meaning, "I leave her in your strong and caring hands, my beloved son, my Kai."

Her eyes glistened, and her lip trembled, but she did not cry. There was no need. He would return.

Fett ran one last caress through her hair before he turned to go up the ramp. But then he abruptly stopped, and pulled something out of one of the satchels he carried. He turned back and handed it to I'Lai as he softly muttered, "One thing. Tell Calrissian…nice try." With that, he dropped a small but heavy device into her hand. Thanks to his technical tutoring, she recognized the device. It was a homing beacon.

I'Lai sighed and quietly chuckled as she rolled her eyes. Although his expression remained stoic, there was a glimmer of a smile in Fett's eyes as well.

He turned and walked up the ramp of his ship. It closed behind him, and soon the _Slave I's engines burned and whirred. The vessel lifted from the cavern floor and ascended toward the peak of Grand Mountain Hall. As it approached, two enormous stone slabs slid apart in the mountain wall and opened the skies for its soaring exit._

It was only when the vast stone portal closed that I'Lai allowed a tear to roll down her cheek. With a small sniffle, she leaned down and kissed Kai's head, cuddling him close to her breast.

_If he truly loved you, he would stay.****___

I'Lai's head snapped up and her eyes darted across the cavern. She saw no one. But…she had heard a voice…that voice…

_They laugh at you.****___

She spun around, searching for the owner of the voice.

_They call you unfit to rule, a simpleton in love with scum. They call you whore.****___

"Who's there?" she cried, clutching Kai to her body. "Show yourself!"

_In time.****___

She called to the Force, seeking the presence. But she could feel nothing, see nothing…She could not feel the dark astral shade behind her as it leaned into her neck, breathing her scent, absorbing her Force signature. She could not feel the unseen hands, with their thick, sharpened nails, tenderly touching Kai's head, slide down her shoulders, moving to her breasts…

Just one sweet taste…****

"I'Lai?"

She whirled around with a start, eyes huge, mouth agape in a quick gasp to see Nikoa at the tunnel entrance. 

The maid wrinkled her brow in concern. "I'Lai, are you all right?"

"Did…did you say something, Nikoa?"

"Yes, I asked if you were all right."

"No…no, I mean, before that…"

Nikoa tilted her head, mildly confused. "But I only just got here, I'Lai. I've brought the transport to take you and Kai home."

I'Lai's brows furrowed as her eyes darted back and forth. "You… didn't hear that…?"

"Child," Nikoa cooed as she moved toward her, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Her eyelids fluttered, and her mouth twitched. "I thought…" She raised a hand to her eyes. "It's nothing, I'm sure. I must be tired, that's all..." But she suddenly recalled the hallucination from the day before, and I'Lai started shaking. She tried to hide her trembling by gingerly adjusting Kai in her arms, propping him over her shoulder. "Nikoa…I think I need to see Dr. Him'bron…"

"Maybe that would be wise, I'Lai. With Master Fett's departure and the baby and all the work you've been doing, you've been under strain." Gently, she took I'Lai by the elbow and led her back into the tunnel where the transport waited. "Dr. Him'bron may give you something to calm your nerves…"

As they walked, Nikoa turned over her shoulder to give one last smile to the imperceptible presence standing in the cavern. The entity, in turn, raised his hand to her in a gesture of dark benediction.

At that same moment Kai, slung over his mother's shoulder, stretched out his tiny arms behind her and squealed a giggle before the cavern doors closed behind them. 

* * *

"…And please remember that although the many opulent hotels and casinos of Ord Mantell appreciate your patronage, they do not appreciate your blasters. We ask that all weapons be checked--without argument--at these establishments' doors. If you do not comply with policy, you will be shot on sight." The cheerful female voice chirped through the audio system as though reciting a cake recipe. The nubile Twi'leki flight attendant at the front of the aisle happily pantomimed a blaster shot in the chest as part of her landing procedure demonstration.

Burl panicked briefly in his seat, then breathed a sigh of relief when he remembered he didn't bring a weapon.

The disembodied voice continued over the speaker system. "We are making our approach to Worlport. We ask you to please remain seated with your safety braces locked until the craft has come to a complete stop. We wish you the best of luck while visiting the fair sphere of Ord Mantell and again, thank you for flying Xizor Transport Systems!"

Burl clutched the arms of his seat and took heavy pants through his bulbous nose, all the while shooting nervous glances toward his seat window as the transport craft made its graceful-- if nauseatingly fast-descent through the pink misty atmosphere toward the city's main spaceport. His anxiety was thrust into overdrive when a thickly-accented voice beside him suddenly barked, "Don't fly much, do ya?"

"AH!" Burl screeched. His head snapped around to the Red Nikto seated beside him, who wore an expression of bemused concern. Burl, in his fretfulness, had completely forgotten he was there. 

"Uh…I mean…no, I don't fly much," the brawny miner uttered. A nervous grin tugged at his lips. "This is only my second time. The first time…" He stopped himself in mid-sentence, fairly certain that the alien stranger had no desire to hear that his first space flight took place aboard a slave ship destined for Orri Prime when he was nine. "Well, the first time stunk too."

The Nikto smiled--or at least appeared to do so--and patted the miner's meaty hand. "Well, you get used to it. Especially after you've traveled as much as I have." The being took a small sip from his complimentary refreshment. "What brings you to this den of iniquity? Are you here for business or pleasure?"

"Uh…" Burl's jaw slacked, and his brows knit for a moment. The question completely baffled him; why was he here again…? "Neither, I guess. I'm looking for someone."

"Huh, aren't we all?" The Nikto let out a garbled laugh so loud it practically shook Burl's hair loose. But the alien's demeanor suddenly snapped from amused to seriously grave as he leaned toward Burl. "You a bounty hunter or something?"

"Me? Shyeah, no! I'm a miner."

"Really?" The Nikto's expression relaxed again. "Well, maybe I can help you find this person. I'm a regular visitor here to Ord Mantell. I know a few people here and there."

Burl eyes widened a bit. "Really? You'd do that? That would be swell!"

"The pleasure would be all mine, my new friend. In these changing and uncertain times, we must do what we can to help our fellow sentients." The Nikto ran a thick claw along the rim of his glass. "So…does this person have a name?"

"Yeah. I'm looking for someone called Black Sun."

For a brief moment, the Nikto said nothing. His only reaction was the tightening of his grin and a quick glance around the cabin. Thankfully, no one else aboard had heard Burl's statement.

The alien turned again to Burl, his grin steady and his voice low. "Ah. Yes, I can definitely help you there. I'll make you a deal, my friend--if you agree to pay my transport back to my hotel, then I will happily take you to where you need to go." The Nikto raised his brows. "How do you fair in credits, my friend?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I got more than enough." He patted the pocket that held the purse of credits given to him by Nikoa.

"Really? Well, then that's settled, isn't it?" The Nikto raised his glass from the arm of his seat to Burl. "To a new friendship! By the way, the name is Baac. Baac Nnsheeat."

"Oh! Uh…" Burl reached for his own glass and raised it to Baac's. "Burl Thutchen."

Baac's grin grew wider, and he clinked his glass against Burl's. "Master Thutchen…welcome to Ord Mantell."

As Burl grinned back and swigged his drink, Baac eyed him, as a Wampa would look upon an injured Tauntaun lying in a bloodstained snow bank.

* * *

"Friend Thutchen," Baac gallantly addressed the miner as they reached the bottom of the exit ramp, "Do you have any baggage to claim?"

"Huh? Uh, no, Master Nn…Nnsh…"

"Please, just call me Baac."

"Baac. No, just what I have with me." Burl showed him the carry-on satchel slung across his wide chest.

"Ah, I see. I myself do have some baggage to claim." He took Burl by the arm, leading him through the swarm of off-boarding passengers toward the space dock terminal. "Why don't you go to the nearest bar and help yourself to a complimentary cocktail whilst I pick up my luggage. Then, I will take you to your destination. Agreed?"

"Uh, sure, OK." Burl looked all around the dock. He was obviously overwhelmed by the amount of peoples and activity around him and, despite his huge size, looked as confident as a lost five-year-old child. He turned back to Baac. "You won't be gone long, will you?"

Baac again let out a booming, high-pitched garbled laugh. Burl weakly smiled back, but was again unnerved by the alien's guffaw. Baac slapped Burl on the back. "What, a strapping boy like you, Master Thutchen, nervous about being left alone for a few moments? That's rich, my friend, RICH!" 

Burl scratched his head and shrugged. "It's just that…I ain't never been here before. Never been anywhere before, really, and…"

The Nikto bowed his head. "My apologies, Friend Thutchen. I am quite traveled, and I forget that many fine citizens are not. To answer your question, no, I will not be long. Thankfully, I have a friend in baggage claim here. He is quite expedient." He gestured to the terminal gate. "Please, refresh yourself at the bar. I am confident that by the time I return, you will have charmed many pretty heads with your wit and valor. Just one word of advice: Keep your credits close to you, and try not to look like a tourist. This place absolutely teems with disreputable thugs that prey on honest, hard-working men such as you. Now, off you go!" With that, he gave Burl a light shove toward the gate. Burl smiled and nodded, and then walked through the tall opaque glass doors into the terminal.

After only two or three steps in, Burl stopped and gawked. The terminal itself was a huge, neon-lit assault on his rather provincial senses. Hundreds of beings scuttled about as they entered the terminal from their dozens of ships. Shops, eateries, and bars stretched along the length of the terminal, all of which seemed packed to capacity. Baggage carts with their droid drivers expertly sliced through the crowds at breakneck speeds. Skyhopper drivers stood about, either holding identification signs for their passengers or looking tired and bored. The air was saturated with arrival and departure announcements as well as thumping, highly energetic music and conversations of every known language and decibel level. The mixture of human and alien sweat, perfume, glitterstim smoke, alcohol, food, and at least another dozen unidentifiable smells made Burl feel green about the gills.

It was only when an annoyed Rodian planted an elbow in Burl's back did he move forward. Desperately looking about, he spotted the nearest bar and headed toward it, hoping his newfound Nikto companion would find him there…

As soon as Burl had lumbered through the terminal gate, Baac's smile faded. He turned and walked a few paces away from the gate, unhitching a small comlink from his belt. He turned it on. "You there? It's me."

A voice crackled back, speaking in the tongue of the Aqualish.

"Just now. I'm at the terminal as we speak. Listen, heads up. I've got a rube here asking questions about the organization."

Again the voice, this time with a questioning tone.

"Nah, definitely not. This one's even too stupid to work for the Hutts. Thinks he's looking for a person. I have no idea what his story is, but I do know that the stupid ones are usually the most trouble." Baac looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was listening. No one was. He continued. "I'll bring him by within the hour. You know how to thank me. Out."

With that, Baac switched off the comlink. Pulling himself up and puffing himself out, he resumed his persona of the well-traveled Samaritan and strode through the terminal gates to find the naïve off-worlder.

* * *

The streets through which Baac led Burl seemed a completely different universe from the grand towers and spirals of the casinos and hotels off in the distance. Small, dirty clay huts and buildings seemed tossed about like spare parts at a junkyard along the narrow unpaved roadways. There were no signs marking any businesses or shops: There seemed to be no businesses at all for that matter. There also seemed to be no people, save for the one or two beings Burl glimpsed here and there scurrying around corners. In the middle of the day, the streets were virtually deserted underneath Ord Mantell's pink-hued clouds.

"Come, friend Thutchen, not too much further," chirped the Nikto as they made their way along the winding streets. 

Burl warily looked about him as he scratched his head. "You sure we're going the right way? These buildings don't have addresses. The streets don't even have names!"

Baac turned to his brawny companion, snickering. "My friend, there is a saying here on Ord Mantell: If you don't know where you're going, then you probably don't belong there! Fortunately for you and me, I know where we're going."

"Yeah, but...don't you think it's awfully quiet for the middle of the day?"

The Nikto stopped briefly, shooting Burl a mildly incredulous glare. "My friend Thutchen, I am beginning to think that you grow wary of me."

"No, no, not at all, Baac! It's just...well, I guess I'm just a little nervous, this being my first trip here and all..."

Baac smirked, giving Burl a comforting pat on the arm. "Nothing to be nervous about! You are in good hands." He sprinted forward, making Burl jerk into a lumbering trot to keep up. He continued. "Daytime is always a quiet time in this part of Worlport. Wait until the sun sets--you won't even recognize the place with all the commotion and goings-on." 

They turned a corner and walked a few more paces before Baac stopped. Burl found they had stopped in front of a little clay building with no windows. The music that emanated from behind its red door was barely audible, but once again Burl caught the whiff of glitterstim smoke wafting from under the door's crack.

"Well, we're here," Baac announced. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny box, opened it, and pinched a teensy bit of stuff from it. He raised it to his nose, sniffed it up, and immediately sneezed. He returned it to his pocket. "What you seek is in there. I'll be waiting for you out here."

Burl's mouth twitched, opening and closing like an anxious fish unsure of the hook in front of him. He turned again to his Nikto companion. "You're...not coming with me?"

Baac sighed, curling his leathery lip. "Uh, no, unfortunately. You see, the proprietor of this establishment and I have had...a falling-out, as it were. So my presence is no longer welcome here." He thumped both paws on Burl's large shoulders. "But I'm sure you will have no trouble, my friend! Just cordially ask any of the fine clientele inside what you seek, and it will be provided! And tip big--they like that here! Now, off you go!" Again, Baac shoved Burl toward the door. Burl paused, took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped inside.

The place was dark, dank, tiny, and housed the rank odor of old booze and glit smoke. It was only after a few moments of adjusting his eyes did Burl realize the place was a tavern. A variety a beings sat at the tiny tables or at the short bar, including an scarred Aqualish and a charcoal-hued one-eyed Wookiee, none of which looked all too polite. An overly ripened human woman danced--or at least attempted to--on a small platform in the back, looking as though she may have actually turned heads half a galactic standard century earlier. The only other human in the place was the surly-looking middle-aged male bartender who welcomed the newcomer with a glare that could have scared off a virus.

Simpering and clearing his throat, Burl mustered all the courage he could and stepped forward to the bar. "Um...I'll have a Corellian whisk--"

"You got a weapon?" The bartender barked as he scuffled over, never taking his eyes off him.

"Uh, no..."

"Frisk him!"

"What--HEY!" Burl suddenly felt himself thrown up over the bar and held there while the one-eyed Wookiee combed through each and every pocket in his short duster with his free paw. He jerked when he felt that same paw ride up between his legs. "I ain't got a blaster, I tell ya!"

"You know this is a private club, son, " the bartender smirked, amused by the scene. The Aqualish let out a burbling laugh at his comment.

"No, I didn't know that! Stop that!"

The Wookiee grabbed Burl off the bar by his collar and pulled him back to the floor, grunting to the bartender that the miner was clean. The bartender leaned into the bar, glaring at Burl as the miner straightened himself. "What are ya doing here, son?"

"Look," Burl grumbled, "I was told that if I came in here, there'd be someone who could help me find a guy called Black Sun! Then before I know it, I'm tossed around like a--"

"Black Sun?" The bartender smiled, revealing his five remaining teeth. "Well, why didn't you say so? We can help ya with that! Can't we, boys?" Throwing them a quick knowing wink, he motioned to the Wookiee and the Aqualish.

Burl let out a sigh of relief, comforted by the bartender's depleted smile and change in demeanor. "Hey, that would be great, really great! But you know, I'd still kinda like that whiskey--HEY! WHAT THE--"

Chairs flew, tables were knocked over, and the alien bodies of the Wookiee and the Aqualish were suddenly heaved into motion as they descended upon Burl. A sack was thrust over his face as his arms were painfully pinned behind him. Again he was knocked over the bar, but this time his feet were lifted from the floor, and he could feel metal binders encircle his ankles. He felt the massive Wookiee's furred arm crush against the back of his neck. A rough rope cut around his wrists. Despite his size, Burl was completely defenseless against the ambush, yelping and bellowing, "HEY! CUT IT OUT! I DIDN'T DO NUTHIN! OH GODS, DON'T KILL ME! I WAS SENT HERE! I GOT INFORMATION! I GOT INFORMATION FOR BLACK SUN!!"

Nonchalantly wiping out a filthy glass, the bartender snorted, "Tell it to the boss--if you live long enough..."

Burl felt himself lifted off the floor and slung over a huge shoulder he presumed was the Wookiee's. "Please, aw please, don't kill me! Please! Aw, come on!" he cried, wiggling violently in the Wookiee's grip. The Wookiee roared in irritation at the Aqualish, who in response pulled a short blunt club out of his belt and struck Burl's sack-covered head with a sickening THUNK! The miner slumped unconscious.

"Thank you," griped the bartender. "Now get him outta here! The boss is waiting for him."

The Aqualish kicked open the tavern's archaic door, leading the way outside. Just as the Wookiee, carrying his unconscious load, and the Aqualish set foot onto the dusty road, a landspeeder driven by short, squatty Snivvian a banked a nearby corner at breakneck speed and stopped short of the tavern door. Just as the Wookiee was about to heave Burl into the back seat, a thickly accented voice crooned, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

All three aliens turned to see Baac Nnsheeat leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, ankles crossed, wearing an expression of bemused anticipation. Rolling his four bulbous eyes, the Aqualish shoved his hand into Burl's front pocket, pulling out his small purse of credits and lobbing them over to the Nikto. Baac expertly caught it in mid-air.

As he opened the purse to inspect the contents, Baac said, "Since you're heading back to that way, mind giving me a lift to the casino?"

The Aqualish lumbered toward Baac, eventually standing to loom over him. Baac's demeanor melted from arrogance to discomfort as the taller alien mumbled in nearly understandable Basic, "Don't press your luck, Baac."

The one-eyed charcoal Wookiee and the squatty Snivvian practically howled in laughter as Burl was tossed into the backseat of the speeder. Baac narrowed his eyes into a deadly glare and made sure the speeder and its occupants were well down the street before spitting into their dust.

* * *

_He was very near to releasing his seed, she could tell by the ecstatic grimace on his face. Over and over, she had tried to turn away from the bodies in coitus, clench her eyes, but she could not move. She was cemented to the corner of the room, held against her will, feeling small, feeling helpless, feeling just as violated herself--for deep in her soul she knew that this was not lovemaking..._

_She saw him arch underneath his lover and heard him cry out. The petite, dark-haired nude female straddling his body, however, made no sound and gave no indication of any emotion, be it pleasure or otherwise. She simply watched him as though he were nothing more than words on a datapad._

_One last spasm, and he was spent. He sank back into the thin mattress, his bare chest heaving with each breath. It was only then the woman showed a hint of reaction with a tiny smile. Slowly, she raised a hand and passed it over his eyes, a finger tracing down his nose over his lips. She parted her lips to speak, her young musical voice caressing each word..._

_"Si'at siikaa eusss'na Sith, sei ti'maa eusss'na criiah taee…"_

_His breathing calmed immediately, disturbingly so. His eyes glazed, and his mouth gaped open. Almost inaudibly, he whispered, "Padme..." before sinking further into his cot, as if he had just passed out from too much drink. If it had not been for the slight rise and fall of his chest, it would appear that he was dead._

_The petite girl slid off him, wrapped herself into her cloak. Turning to him one last time, she murmured, "If you so wish, Obi-wan," and, as silently as she had entered, left through the small door. _

_It was then that she felt her invisible shackles release, and she felt herself flung after the small woman into the night._

_Outside, there was a storm, although she had heard no inkling of it inside the small mud cottage. The winds whipped sand up into vicious funnels, stinging her eyes, her throat...strangling her furious words of humiliation and betrayal as she glared at the petite brunette girl leaning against the hut..._

_"How could you!" she screamed. She felt the sensation of falling to her knees, although she could not be sure that she was truly there at all in that moment, in that sandstorm, staring at her young mother, for it all seemed unreal, hazy. "How could you...Mama..."_

_The woman said nothing as she listened to the sobs, witnessed the fury. She merely stood there against the wall with one hand placed over her womb as though it would help to fortress the seed within her. She saw the woman's lips curl into a sinister smile and saw her eyes slit. She heard the low rumblings of a laugh come from the woman's throat, growing with the same intensity as the desert winds hurling about them...and followed by the words..._

_"Founder of the New Republic. Champion of the entire galaxy. And still such a child. An ignorant, clingy, stupid little girl." The woman stepped forward toward her, allowing her to see every facet of her beautiful, unmistakable face, her huge brown eyes, her high cheekbones, her flowing chestnut hair, until she stood toe to toe with her. Leaning into her face, the petite young woman's voice changed from musical to malicious as she growled, "You are unfit, Vader-spawn! Pathetic! Weak! No progeny of Vader's will hold this galaxy! Only MY child! MY child will be the EMPIRE! MY CHILD WILL WATCH YOU DIE!"_

_And as she spoke, then she began to change. The woman suddenly grew taller, looming over her as she watched. Her hair darkened from chestnut brown to pitch raven black and sprang into ringlets that twisted over her neck and shoulders. Her irises morphed from deep chocolate into the color of simmering coals. Her face sharpened from its roundness, the chin pointing down and the forehead sweeping higher...her face was becoming familiar, strangely, hauntingly familiar...And all the while she laughed a low, throaty laugh of hideous satisfaction as the desert winds engulfed them--_

"STOP! STOP! AGH--"

Only when she banged her head into her desk did Leia completely awaken.

She reeled back in her chair as she raised a hand to the small lump forming on her brow. As her eyes cleared, she shot an anxious glance about her private office. She listened to the silence in the darkened room, the only light being the small desk lamp illuminating the stacks of datapads piled neatly upon her desk. Rubbing her eyes with her delicate fingers, she breathed a heavy sigh as she realized she had, again, fallen asleep at her desk.

_I'm tired, that's all, she thought_. With everything that's happened over the last few months, and this morning...that's it. I'm just tired...the doctor said I'd need more rest now, but...I have so much to do...and now the dreams have come back...__

She realized her thoughts were racing, and she snapped herself out of her fog reaching for the datapad in front of her. It was the datapad she had probably picked up well over fifty times that day, and she found herself staring at the data again. Scanned across the tiny screen were the results of medical tests administered by her personal physician the day before.

She swallowed hard, and closed her eyes when she felt the twinge of a tear forming. "Come on, Leia," she whispered to herself, "If you could get through everything else in your life, you can certainly handle this..."

But suddenly, Leia felt her chest constrict and her throat tighten. She suddenly felt terribly alone and, in spite of herself, a little scared.

She stared at the holophone for several long, quiet moments before she decided to make the call.

* * *

The blip of the holophone stirred Luke from the pages in his lap. Very gently, he gathered the archaic paper pages into their proper order, save for the one he was reading which he placed on top, and hurried to the holophone com. He glanced at the timepiece on the wall--who could be calling at this hour...?

He tapped the com button. "Skywalker here." The incoming image fuzzed at first, and then sharply focused atop his desk, and he grinned. "Leia!"

Leia's holographic image returned his warm smile. "Good evening, Brother Luke. Am I disturbing you? I know it's late..."

"No, not at all! You never disturb me, you know that! I was just doing a little reading. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

Leia's smile broadened--she knew Luke had been working very hard on his formal etiquette and manners as well as his Jedi training. And his hard work was showing. "Oh, I just haven't talked to you much lately. We've both been rather busy."

"Well, you far more than I, Leia!"

"Yes, well..." Her voice trailed off for a moment, and Luke noted a strange, distant look in her eye. He was about to comment on it when Leia suddenly blurted, "I received a transmission from Lando today. It seems Governor I'Lai has released Boba Fett from her custody."

Luke's grin diminished somewhat, and he knit his brow. "Are you concerned?"

She sighed and lightly shook her head. "He swore an oath of parole in front of Lando and I'Lai, two New Republic officials. Even I have to admit that although he has certainly pushed the boundaries in the past, he has never completely violated the statutes of galactic law. That oath will hold him to that. Besides," she said wistfully, "having experienced his feelings for I'Lai, he showed me that he may be harsh and brutal, but he is not evil."

"I have to agree," Luke added. Again, Luke saw the look in Leia's eye, and he didn't need the Force to tell him something was on her mind. "Leia, that isn't the reason you called me, is it?"

"No." Her eyes dropped to her desk briefly before she raised them again. "Luke, would you...like to meet me somewhere? Maybe have a bite to eat? Just...to get out and talk for a while?"

He leaned back slightly, mildly surprised by this request. It was rare that Leia ever wanted to go out, particularly at this late an hour. In fact, her hermit-like behavior and her workaholic nature of recent months had proven to be a point of contention between her and Han...uh-oh...could it be Han...?

"Um, sure Leia. Where do you want to go? The Pearl? The Scarlet Spire? The Spire is pretty fancy--"

"No, no," she said, tightly shaking her head. "I don't want to go anywhere I'll be fawned over by maitre'ds, reporters, or political sycophants!" She sighed again, a soft smile tugging her lips. "I'd like to go where no one knows my face."

He couldn't help but laugh. "That's a pretty tall order, Leia!"

"I know. But...I thought maybe you might know somewhere. A place where I can get a really big Jhin'ca sundae! I've been craving one for days..."

Luke chuckled again. Sure, why wouldn't a scruffy farm-boy know of a good greasy spoon? At that moment, he just happened to glance down at the pages in his hand, and his grin widened. The old, yellowed papers were from Obi-wan Kenobi's personal journal, first volume, written during his first years at the Jedi Temple. Ironically, he had just read a passage in which ten-year-old Obi-wan was raving about the best nerf steak he had ever had at this little hole-in-the wall place in Coruscant's lower levels...

"Leia, I think I have a place in mind. I just hope it's still there..."

* * *

A labored check in the Coruscant business directory confirmed that the place did still indeed exist, difficult as it was for the operator to find. This made Luke quite happy, for more reasons than one. Not only was there an all-night diner available not too far from either himself or Leia, but it was also something real, tangible, and special from Ben Kenobi's past that had remained intact and unscathed by Palpatine's tyrannical purge of all things Jedi and Old Republic.

Changing out of his Jedi garb and into a clean tunic and trousers, Luke left his quarters and walked through the dark yet now partially restored foyer of the ancient Jedi Temple. He took a brief moment to admire the work already done in the Temple, although it had a ways to go before being fully restored to its former glory.

At first, Luke was baffled that the Emperor hadn't burned the Temple to the ground: But after spending the last several months living there and overseeing its restoration, Luke began to understand why Palpatine hadn't even so much as removed one brick. The Temple was more than just a building--it was a holy place, sacred ground that cradled the purest essence of the Light Side of the Force, and Luke felt comforted and safe being constantly surrounded by its benevolent aura. He realized that Sidious couldn't step one foot into the place, and quite possibly feared whatever outcome may fall upon him if he destroyed it. Despite his campaign of murder and terror, there was one Jedi besides Ben and Yoda that Sidious could not destroy, and that was the Temple itself.

So instead, Darth Sidious built a large durasteel fortress around it, complete with guard towers and ion cannons, and proclaimed it condemned: Anyone who was caught trespassing on Temple property would be shot on sight and their families imprisoned for life. 

"Your greatest weapon was fear, Sidious," Luke whispered to himself, "and yet, no one harbored more fear in his heart than _you_." Shaking himself from his reverie, he continued through the foyer to the street platform, and hailed a skyhopper.

As he climbed into the backseat, Luke tossed a tiny datapad to the Dug driver. "Take me to the address on the screen--Coco Town." The Dug threw Luke a slit-eyed glance over his shoulder before pulling his goggles over his eyes and hitting the fuel pedal full throttle. The driver banked corners, cut off other drivers, dipped too low too fast and ascended just as recklessly. As he regained his balance and quickly fastened his seatbelt, Luke couldn't help but think this Dug had taken driving lessons from Han Solo at some time or another..._I've flown just about every mission one can think of during the war, he thought to himself__, but I'll never get used to city driving. _

After several more minutes of speeding wildly through Coruscant's air-streets and Luke hosting his heart in his throat, the hopper screeched to an abrupt halt, throwing him up against the back of the front passenger seat. Before he had a moment's chance to curse out the driver, the Dug turned and belched, "Fifty credits--plus tip!"

_So much for the advantages of being a war hero. Luke tossed a cred chip at the driver, who deftly caught it with his lower arm. "Keep the change--you'll need it to pay off your moving violations," he grumbled as he hopped out of the vehicle._

As he revved up the engines, the Dug garbled, "Thanks--Jedi!" and sped off, laughing. Luke blew a short laugh out his nose before turning toward the diner door. The place was small, unobtrusive, devoid of customers and in desperate need of a paint job, but altogether cozy, clean, and inviting. A short glance at the front window confirmed that Luke was at the right place; the sign on the window, painted in bright eye-catching colors, read 'Dex's Diner'. As he opened the door, he could already hear the conversation--or rather argument--that was ensuing inside.

"I mean it, Dex! If you don't reprogram that clanking Jawa-juice jockey with a few more manners, I'll walk, I swear!" the pert, strawberry blond human waitress barked through the order window.

The voice that responded from the kitchen was gruff, deep, and jovial. "And how do you expect to pay your way through beauty school if you quit, Camilli? And what will you tell your mother, hmm? She's the one that begged me to hire you."

"She didn't beg, Dex! She--" 

"Wasn't real fast on her feet either, if I recall." Luke watched a sleek, uni-wheeled droid suddenly skirt across the dining room and bank the corner of the counter as it deftly carried a tray of dirty dishes and rolled right in front of the girl. The girl jumped back just in time to keep her toes free from tire-tracks.

"Wah," the voice from the kitchen warned, "One more quip about Hermione outta you and I will reprogram you!"

The droid's shoulder points slumped a bit, and its eye-lights dimmed a fraction. "Sorry, Dex."

Camilli's face turned bright red, and she pursed her plump lips. "NOW she's saying things about my mother? DEX!"

"Girls, girls, PLEASE! Enough of the spatting!" The kitchen door swung open, and a hulking, four-appendaged Besalisk lumbered through the door, his skin mottled with aged gray and wearing an apron that looked like it hadn't been washed since the battle of Yavin. "Don't you two napkins to fold? Second shift at the factory will be ending in a couple hours----" He abruptly stopped when he saw the fair-haired young man standing in the door. His reptilian eyes grew large with disbelief, and his wide jaw dropped. Camilli and the droid glanced at the alien in confusion before also turning to the young man.

"Girls," the alien murmured, still gaping at Luke, "Show this fine young man a seat."

Luke simpered a bit, and cleared his throat before asking, "Are you still open? If not, I can go someplace else--"

"Open? Of course we're open!" The Besalisk came toward him, and Luke thought for a moment the alien was going to cry. Extending all four fin-like hands, he grasped Luke's hand in all of them and shook it with great enthusiasm. "Sir," he croaked, his voice drenched in emotion, "It is a great, great honor to have you here. A great honor!"

Luke could feel he was getting red. _A place no one would know my face, huh?_ All he could manage to utter was, "I heard your nerf steak in pretty good."

The alien suddenly guffawed, and slapped Luke on the arm. "Good? The best on Coruscant, my boy! The best!" He turned to Camilli and lightly barked, "Well Camilli, show Master Skywalker a seat already!"

"Sk-sk-Skywalker?!" Gasping, Camilli fell back slightly on the counter. "THE Luke Skywalker?!" WA-7's eye lights suddenly sparked up as well, and she nearly dropped the tray of dishes perched on her appendage.

Luke smiled awkwardly and tugged at his collar. "Um, if it's ok, I'll just sit at the counter until my si...er, friend arrives."

"Absolutely, my boy! Whatever you need or desire here, it's yours without question!" The Besalisk took him by the arm and led him to the counter. "General Skywalker, I'm Dexter Jettster; owner, manager, and head chef here." 

"Very pleased to meet you, Master Jettster. But please, just call me Luke."

"Well Luke, you can call me Dex." Dex motioned to the stool. As Luke seated himself, Dex asked, "So tell me, Luke, how did you come across our fine establishment here?"

"I was reading my Master's journal, and he mentioned this place--"

"Ah yes, Obi-wan Kenobi," Dex said wistfully and quietly.

Luke's eyes grew wide. How did he know Ben had been his teacher? He suddenly got the feeling that there was more to this Besalisk than just being a short-order cook. "You...knew him? Well?"

Dex nodded, his grin becoming even wider. "He was my best customer. Came here for almost 20 years until..." His voice trailed off a bit before he continued, "until the rise of the Empire." He paused for a moment before adding, "And he was my good friend. I was very, very sad to hear of his loss."

Luke was about to comment, but found he had no words. He merely smiled and put a supportive hand on Dex's shoulder. Dex, in turn, patted Luke's hand, still smiling wistfully. When he turned to grab a menu from the counter, Luke found himself accosted by the beaming, freckled face of the strawberry blond waitress. She leaned into the counter on her elbows, purposely giving Luke a clear shot of her pert, burgeoning cleavage through her skimpy yellow waitress outfit. "I'm Camilli Bagwa," she chirped. Lowering her lashes and leaning even further into him, she added in a husky whisper, "And I am here to give you ANYTHING you want."

"How about giving him some air?" WA-7 snapped as she plunked a cup of steaming Jawa juice in front of the young Jedi. Camilli shot a fierce glare at the droid, and Luke stifled a laugh, torn between utter embarrassment and nervous enjoyment of all the attention. He was about to take a swig from the warm mug when the front door opened. This time, the restaurant staff did not ignore the newest customer to come in. A diminutive, cowl-shrouded figure wearing a set of gray mechanic's coveralls glided gracefully in from the street, and only removed the hood when she spotted her brother sitting at the counter.

Leia beamed brightly as she extended her arms. "Luke!"

"Leia!" Luke hopped off the stool and threw his arms around his sister, completely unaware of the new wave of astonishment and frenzy of the staff behind him as they bolted around the dining room, preparing a table that would be suitable for the galaxy's most famous war hero and his sister, President Leia Organa.

However, as he glanced over his Leia's shoulder out into the street, he saw no bodyguards or escorts, just a lone speeder bike parked in front. He pulled himself back from the embrace, and actually scowled. "Do NOT tell me you came alone."

"All right, I won't tell you."

"LEIA," Luke whispered tightly, "I don't think I need to remind you that Coruscant is still teeming with Imp sympathizers and spies! You could be kidnapped, or assassinated, or--"

"Or publicly admonished by my brother in the middle of a diner," Leia broke in, raising a delicate eyebrow. She cocked her head. "Besides, do you think an Imperial assassin is going to look for the Acting President of the New Republic in an eatery in Coco Town? Frankly, I'd be in more danger at the Pearl."

"Still," Luke grumbled, "you shouldn't take such reckless chances."

Now it was Leia's turn to huff in exasperation. "Honestly Luke, you sound just like my fathe--" She stopped, and her face darkened slightly as she caught herself. She cleared her throat as she murmured, "Like Bail Organa."

Luke was not going to allow the silence between them become too uncomfortable. "Come on, let's sit down."

Camilli led them to a back table that was fairly well hidden from the street windows. Unlike the other tables, which hosted only menus, flatware, and spice shakers, this one had been set complete with table cloth, napkins folded like flying birds, a small vase of flowers, and a single white tapered candle. The twins were both quite astonished by the table's presence and the speed in which it had been set. Leia turned to the beaming Besalisk, herself smiling brightly. "It's beautiful, sir."

Dex's skin darkened, indicating that he was blushing. "I only wish my place could meet the Pearl's standards, your Excellency."

"Oh, you've quite outdone anything seen there, sir. And please, call me Leia."

Dex bowed gallantly, extending all four arms wide. "Leia, welcome to Dex's Diner!" As he pulled a chair for Leia, he added, "Anything you want, on or off the menu, it's on the house tonight."

"Oh no, Dex, we wouldn't dream--" Luke began, but was cut off by Leia raising her hand.

She threw Luke a quieting glance before turning to Dex. "Thank you so much, Master Dex. You forever have our gratitude." After he had seated the two, Dex stepped to the door and flicked the "OPEN" sign on the door to "CLOSED". 

Luke furrowed his brow. "Leia, we can't accept a free meal--"

"Luke," Leia murmured, holding his disbelieving gaze, "Turning down a gift is poor manners. Just make sure you go out of your way to repay it somehow."

Luke simpered a bit, and slumped his shoulders. "I guess this farm boy still has a lot to learn about etiquette, huh?"

Leia reached over the table and took his hand, her smile again growing wide and bright. "No, Luke, you're doing wonderfully!" Smiling back at her, he picked up his menu, as did she.

The young waitress Camilli could barely retain herself as she bounced to their table. With a grin as wide as a star system, she giggled, "Wah and I tossed a credit--and I won! So I'll be your waitress tonight!" Clearing her throat and pulling herself straight, she pulled her datapad out of her apron pocket and proudly asked, "So...what can I get you, Master Skywalker? President Organa?"

Leia didn't miss a beat. "Jhin'ca sundae--with extra syrup." A pause, then, "Make it two."

"Um..." Luke stammered for a second before deciding, "Your nerf steak. Well done. With all the trimmings." As Camilli bounced away, he leaned over the table. "Leia, I don't want a sundae--"

"They're both for me," Leia whispered.

He furrowed his brow again. "Two sundaes?"

"So I'm hungry."

"Leia. Is everything all right?"

She looked up at her brother's worried, compassionate eyes. She sighed. "I'm...fine, Luke. Just...a little tired and stressed."

"I can imagine, President Organa," he said with a soft smile. "So, how is Han?" He paused before adding, "_Where_ is Han?"

She smirked slightly as she replied, "He's on Nar Shaddaa."

"The Smuggler's Moon? What is he doing there?"

"Well, he says he's on a diplomatic mission to rally some of the merchants' guild's to the New Republic's cause. Which is Han Solo's way of saying he's playing sabaac with his old cronies."

Luke's eyes widened again, and his jaw slacked. "And you let him go?"

"Let him? I encouraged him!" Leia laughed. "He was bored stiff here! Han Solo may be many things, but a politician he is not. And with all the work I'm doing arranging free galactic elections and re-establishing the Senate, we haven't had any time for a honeymoon yet, so...I kicked him off Coruscant for a while. That way, he can blow off some steam, and I can get him out of my hair. He'll be back in a few days."

"So, everything is fine with you and Han?"

She beamed. "Almost perfect." 

"So what's troubling you? And don't say, 'nothing'. I know you too well."

Leia paused for a second, staring at the table top, before saying, "I...know this is going to sound silly but...Luke, I've been having some very disturbing dreams lately..."

Before he could stop himself, Luke suddenly blurted, "You've seen him too?"

Leia looked up, puzzled. "Seen who?"

"The horned man?" At that moment Dex, who had come out of the kitchen to retrieve something from under the lunch counter, turned his back and abruptly went back into the kitchen. 

She shook her head and said softly, "No, I haven't seen anything like that..." 

Luke took a deep breath. "Oh. I'm sorry. Please, tell me about your dreams."

She idly played with the gold band adorning her finger. She herself took a deep breath before beginning. "I've been dreaming about...Mother. Mother and Obi-wan Kenobi. When they were young. In my dreams they are...together." 

Luke harbored no judgment at the statement, but simply murmured, "Go on."

She paused, her expression becoming more distraught. "They were... making love. Well, no, they weren't making love--it was more like a violation. Obi-wan seemed as though he was drugged, under her control. And the woman looks like Mother, but it's not Mother. She...changes in the dream. She becomes someone else...someone very familiar, but...I can't tell who it is..." 

"Have you called to the Force?"

"Yes, I have...and I feel nothing there. No sign of danger or otherwise." She nervously began twisting the ring on her finger. "She...she talked to me this last time. Actually, she screamed at me..." Another deep breath, and then, "She said her child would destroy me and rule the Empire...she called me..." She clenched her eyes, the corners of her mouth pulling down.

Luke pressed her. "She called you what, Leia?"

"She called me...Vader-spawn." She opened her eyes to see the blood drain from Luke's face. She heard his breath catch in his throat. "Luke...what is it?"

He reached over the table, taking both her hands in his, and looked intently into her eyes. His voice was low, yet equally as intense as his gaze. "Leia...I've come to believe..." He swallowed hard before continuing, "that there may be another dark presence out there."

Leia tightened her grip around his hands, and he could feel her shake a bit. "Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not entirely sure. But...I've felt it. It's started faintly, but it's been growing stronger. And this presence has been invading my dreams as well."

"But...why can you feel it, and I can't? Why does it come to you and not me?"

"I don't know, Leia. Why do you see these images, and I don't? I'm afraid I don't have any answers. Not yet." Camilli thrusting through the kitchen door, balancing the tray of food on her shoulder and heading toward their table distracted him momentarily. As she approached, he lowered his voice even more. "But I'll find the answers, Leia. Don't worry. I advise you to meditate before you sleep, and pull a Force wrap around your essence. Protect yourself."

"Seems I'll be protecting more than myself," Leia muttered under her breath, then suddenly bit her lip.

Luke waited for Camilli to finish setting their dishes down and walk away from the table before inquiring, "What do you mean by that?" Her shoulders slumped a bit, and she looked away. Luke couldn't tell if she was about to smile or cry. "Leia...?"

"I..." Hastily, she picked up a spoon and began stabbing at one of her sundaes. "I saw my doctor yesterday. I got my medical results this morning."

He waited for a moment in her silence. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I'm just..." She dropped her spoon. "Oh, I can't say the words. Not before..." She glanced up at her brother. "Well, use the Force, Luke. It will tell you."

He reached out with the Force, reading his sister's signature. He was immediately enveloped by her breathtaking light, her strength of compassion, her familiar courage...until he suddenly felt something more. A tiny glimmer in the Force radiated from her, as small as a raindrop, but its significance was a vast as any ocean...His jaw dropped as he leaned back in his seat. "Leia...you're..." 

She nodded shyly. "Yes. I am."

"Gods...oh Gods, LEIA!" Luke not only jumped out of his seat, but cleared the entire table in a single leap. As he landed, he pulled Leia out of her seat and twirled her around in a huge bear hug, all the while laughing. Leia did all she could to hang on for dear life and hope he didn't swing her right into one of the neighboring tables. He finally set her down, breathless and elated. "This is wonderful news! Han must be beside himself!"

"Han…doesn't know yet," Leia whispered, nervously shooting glances around the restaurant and its staff. "I only found out this morning. I want to tell him in person, not over a galactic comlink." Suddenly her voice trembled, and a gush of tears sprang from her eyes. "Oh, dammit," she cried, furiously wiping her face. 

Luke, surprised by his sister's outburst, gently smoothing the tears from her cheeks. "Honey, what's the matter?"

"It's too soon, Luke! The New Republic is barely functioning, there are still Imperial forces just lying in wait to attack who knows where, and Han..." She sobbed a deep breath, "we've only been married for three months, and we haven't even announced our marriage to the public yet and...you tell me there may be a new evil out there, and I haven't slept in weeks, and now...this..." She held a hand to her quaking stomach. "And I feel sick..."

"Uh-oh," Camilli stuttered as she saw Leia raise a hand to her mouth. Before Luke could even react, the young waitress careened around the counter and grasped Leia by both shoulders. "Come on, honey, come with me. Master Skywalker, don't you worry, I got it covered," she said as she whisked Leia off to the restroom.

Those remaining in the dining room stood in a stunned silence. WA-7 blew an electronic whistle and returned to folding her napkins. Luke sheepishly looked over to Dex, who was leaning in from the kitchen window and wearing an expression of soft compassion.

"Um, Dex...we'd appreciate it if you...didn't tell anyone about this...or that we were here..."

Dex slid out of the window and came out the kitchen door. Slapping his hand on Luke's shoulder, he muttered softly, "If Obi-wan Kenobi could say one nice thing about me, I'm sure it would be that I can keep a secret." As Luke smiled and relaxed at the statement, Dex leaned back on one of the counter stools. Throwing a glance toward WA-7 to ensure she was out of earshot, he leaned into the young Jedi. "The horned man you mentioned back there. Do you mean the tattooed Zabrak? The Sith?" 

Luke felt his adrenaline surge--he never mentioned the word 'Sith' once during their conversation. "What! You know him?"

Dex shrugged. "I know of him." He leaned into Luke even closer, meeting his eyes. His voice was low and steady when he said, "I know your Master killed him almost forty years ago."

Luke held Dex's gaze in a blank stare as his mind attempted to fully comprehend the Besalisk's revelation. "He...he killed him," he whispered, affirming rather than asking. He paused before asking, "He told you this?"

Dex nodded. "Came in a few nights after the battle of Naboo. Told me about it--not in a bragging way, mind you. No, quite the opposite. He was real shook up. Seems this Sith Lord killed his Master, Qui Gon Jinn. And then...Kenobi killed him." Dex's eyes became wistful. "Obi-wan was just a kid at the time, younger than you are now. Goin' up against something like that at his age...I don't think he ever really got over the whole thing." 

Luke pondered this information, not quite knowing how to interpret it. If this was indeed the presence he had been feeling...but how could it be? No Sith, no matter how powerful, could possibly be felt after forty years in his grave...or could he?

It seemed a new task had suddenly presented itself that required Luke Skywalker's immediate attention...

He put his cybernetic hand on Dex's large shoulder and smiled softly. "Dex, thank you. It would be an honor if I may call you friend."

The Besalisk clamped his huge hand on Luke's. "The honor would be all mine, Luke."

The restroom door swung open. Luke and Dex turned to see Camilli leading Leia by the shoulder back into the dining room. "She's fine," Camilli crooned. "Just a little queasy. That's to be expected."

Luke reached for his sister's shoulder, his eyes soft and loving. "Are you OK?"

Leia reached up and patted her immaculate braids. "Oh, besides feeling utterly humiliated and embarrassed, I'm perfect." Her lips curved into an awkward smile. "I've watched my homeworld be destroyed, I've survived Imperial interrogation, I've led a Rebellion into war and won, and I am acting president of a new galactic government. And the only time I fall apart is when I discover I'm going to have a baby." She laughed at this through new tears.

Luke encircled her into his arms, holding her close to his chest. "Leia," he murmured into her hair, "Do you trust me when I tell you that everything will be all right? That I will always protect you from harm? That I love you beyond anything this galaxy could offer me?"

Leia nodded against his chest and whispered, "Yes, Luke, I trust you."

"Do you trust me when I tell you your sundaes are melting?" Brother and sister both broke out in giggles, as did Camilli. Dex let out a belly-loaded guffaw and returned to the kitchen. WA-7 merely looked up from her pile of napkins, stared at them briefly and, finding no humor in that statement, returned to her folding.

* * *

SPLOOGE! The frigid water felt like someone just stabbed a thousand icicles into Burl's face. He screamed and furiously shook his head as he awoke. He suddenly realized that was all he could shake, as he was strapped rather tightly upright in a chair bolted into the floor. He opened his eyes to see the bulbous, fur-trimmed face of his Aqualish kidnapper staring him right in the eyes.

"Rise and shine, Moonbeam," the alien hissed through his lip sacs. "The boss will see you now." __

Blinking frantically, Burl did what he could to assimilate his surroundings. He found himself sitting in a huge chamber of forest green marble, the walls draped in expensive Arisand silk swags and a giant durasteel and crystal chandelier mounted in the ceiling. The room was devoid of any furniture save for the chair he was tied to, an immense desk of the same green marble set approximately six meters directly in front of him, and a large black leather chair with the back turned set behind that. Framing the desk was a window as high as the wall in which Burl could see a spectacular view of Worlport's skyline, with its sweeping towers, spires, and rooftop gardens gently illuminated by Ord Mantell's indigo dusk. There was also a window set in one of the sidewalls, and through that Burl could see flashing lights blink from the darkness as well as hear the thumping bass and drums of some wild dance music.

Scattered throughout the chamber were several aliens, two of which he recognized as his kidnappers, the Aqualish and the one-eyed Wookiee. There was also a short, stubby Snivvian, who was cleaning his blunt talons with the point of a vibro-blade, and a tall, broadly-built Bothan, whose sable brown pelt was rippling all along the exposed parts of his body in anticipation.

"Where…" Burl blubbered, his face dripping with sweat and cold water, "where am I?"

"You are in my private office," came a smooth, resonant male human voice. Since none of the aliens had opened their mouths, Burl assumed it had come from the huge, high-backed desk chair. He saw two leather-gloved hands gesture from the sides of the chair. "Beautiful, isn't it? I spared no expense in its renovation. Please, take your time appreciating it. It may be the last place you see." Suddenly, a lithe, tall, lavender-skinned Twi'leki female emerged from behind the chair, wearing a sad, shameful expression as she re-clasped the front of her top and assumed her position against the wall.

His eyes shooting over the band of surly-looking aliens, Burl asked, "Where's Baac?"

The voice spoke again. "Baac…? Oh, yes, Baac. If he stays true to his vermin-like nature, he's probably gambled away the credits he stole from you—and trying to screw any female that comes within five meters of him." The alien band all chuckled heartily at the comment. Again, the gloved hand emerged and hastily snapped at the poor Twi'leki lass, who immediately jumped to the command and poured a drink from a bottle on the desk. As she hurried around the desk with his glass, the voice added, "You needn't fret about Baac, son. He has served his purpose."

Burl's face sunk as low as his spirits. Above everything else, now he had been robbed and had no way of getting back to Orri Prime. He raised his head a bit. "Who are you? Are you Black Sun?"

The question not only elicited snorts from the surrounding aliens, but from the man in the chair as well. "In a manner of speaking, yes." The chair slowly circled around to reveal its occupant, who stated smoothly, "But you may call me Czethros."

Even though he was seated all the way across the room from him, the very appearance of the man behind the desk made Burl as though he had just been grabbed by the throat. Czethros was a humanoid male and far more human-looking than anyone else in the room, save for several aspects. His hair was a dark moss green, the same color as the walls and desk, and was slicked back from his forehead and tied at the base of his neck. He was strongly built, and even seated he appeared to be extremely tall, almost as tall as Burl himself. He was impeccably dressed in an expensive green silk brocade jacket tailored to accentuate his well-sculpted shoulders and chest, with an equally expensive shirt underneath clasped at the neck with a black jewel as big as Burl's thumb: Burl was quite positive that the outfit alone cost more than his entire life's salary. But the one feature that struck sheer terror in Burl's gut was his eyes—or lack thereof. Czethros wore a partial silver skullcap that covered his forehead and eyes, and a single point of red light rolled back and forth in a thin liquid crystal display across his face. The red dot sputtered a bit, blipping in short pulses back and forth as it scanned the wet, frightened miner strapped in the chair in front of him. 

Still staring at Burl with his bionic eye, Czethros appeared to be speaking to no one in particular when he queried, "Who is he?"

The Bothan took up the question, moving forward from his position. Reaching into a pocket in his vest, he pulled a small datapad that Burl recognized as his galactic passport. As he stepped toward Czethros, the Bothan read, "Thutchen, Burl. Occupation—miner. Homeworld—Orri Prime." He handed the passport to Czethros, who accepted it without taking his eye off Burl.

"Orri Prime? You're a long way from home, son," the man quipped, lazily looking over the passport. "Here for a little vacation, perhaps?" The red eye shot back toward Burl, and his voice became increasingly menacing. "Or are you here just to bandy our name about like yesterday's pod race results and stick your nose where it doesn't belong?"

Burl was actually happy that his chair was bolted to the floor, for he was sure that his mad trembling would have sent him skimming across the chamber's slick marble floor. Trying his best for some degree of calm, he stammered, "I'm…not here for either…sir. I…I have information for you."

"Really?" It was then Czethros stood from his chair and walked from behind the desk toward the side window. The length of his tailored jacket billowed behind him, and the hard heels of his high black leather boots clicked against the marble floor. "And you came all the way here to tell me this information? I'm touched, really." He stopped and glanced down through the window. "What makes you think I may be interested in hearing it?"

"I was told you would be very interested, sir."

"By whom?"

Burl suddenly stopped as a fog of utter confusion suddenly settled in his mind. He furrowed his brow as he tried to remember…"I…I don't know, sir."

"You don't know," Czethros repeated. He drew his lips into a thin line before adding, "And what sort of compensation do you seek in exchange for this information? Money? A job perhaps?" 

"Uh…money? Yeah, yeah, I guess money would be good."

"You guess money would be good?" The band of aliens gathered around once again broke out in cruel laughter, but were silenced by Czethros' red-eyed glare. Lightly tossing his hands up, Czethros began walking toward the bound miner and announced, "All right, son, you have succeeded in peaking my interest. What is this information you have traveled halfway across the galaxy--and risked a most certain painful death at the end of this inquiry--to deliver me?"

Burl swallowed hard, and looked around the room. All eyes were glowering over him, waiting. Pulling himself up as high as he could in his compromised position in his seat, he announced loudly and clearly, "I know where Boba Fett is." 

He expected to hear sardonic chuckles and guffaws again from the alien hoodlums surrounding him, but his expectations fell short. Outside of the muffled bass and thumping of the music coming from the side window, the room held nothing but a cold, still silence. As Burl looked around again, everyone's expression faded from dangerously smug to stoic, even slightly uncomfortable. Everyone, that is, except for Czethros. He stood perfectly still, his face below his bionic visor remaining unchanged. The only indication that this news had any effect on him was the erratic pulsing of his bionic eye.

Stepping forward, Czethros leaned down into Burl's face, setting his lip in a smirk. "Do you now?" Burl nodded dumbly. Czethros pulled himself back up. "Well, Burl Thutchen, let me thank you in my own special way for this…information." He turned to the vibro-wielding Snivvian and exclaimed, "Treatment!"

With lightening speed, the Snivvian pounced upon the bound Burl, cutting his straps from the chair. But before Burl had any chance to be glad, the Aqualish and the Wookiee once again had him up and off the floor, carrying him kicking and flailing to Czethros' massive desk. They threw him down on his back, knocking the wind out of him. The Aqualish and the Bothan spread his legs wide and held them down while the Wookiee pinned his arms over his head. The Snivvian, still brandishing the vibro-blade, leapt onto the desktop to land and squat right between Burl's legs. As he held the flashing blade up and screeched a horrific, ultra-sonic giggle, Burl realized just exactly what the "treatment" was about to be. "Oh gods! Gods no, PLEEASE!"

Coolly and casually, Czethros strode around the desk, unabashed by the display. "I deplore waste of any kind, Master Thutchen, but the one thing I cannot abide by any means is the waste of my precious time. I am a busy man, sir, and I have neither the desire nor the patience to hear your precise accounts of the whereabouts of a DEAD MAN!" He stopped, standing adjacent to Burl's prone body, and shot his gloved hand forth to furiously grab his jowled jaw. "And unless you can miraculously raise that murdering son of a bitch bounty-hunting _fuck from his grave on Tatooine so I can have the distinct pleasure of killing him myself, I am left with no alternative but to perform the execution I intended for him…on YOU." _

The vibro-blade flashed once again in the subdued lighting of the chandelier, and the Snivvian again howled his terrifying laugh as he sliced it through Burl's trouser belt. Burl thrashed and yelped, sweat pouring out of every pore in his body, his dim mind feverishly attempting to find something—anything—that would spare him this nightmarish end…Then the words came, as though in a dream, as though it wasn't him actually saying them; the words Burl would live to regret uttering every single hour he lived after that…

"STOP! PLEASE, STOP! I SWEAR, HE AIN'T DEAD! I GOT PICTURES! OF HIM AND HIS WOMAN! HE'S GOT A WOMAN!!"

The Snivvian had Burl's trousers partly cut away and was about to claim his 'prize' when Czethros abruptly caught his arm and stopped him. He leaned in again close to the miner's face and muttered, "Fett doesn't have a woman. I have been informed from reliable sources within my payroll that he is a celibate and does not partake in such…_voluptuary _delights." Turning to his comrades, he relayed, "Force knows they tried…"

With his expansive chest heaving in short, terrified breaths, Burl rasped, "Well, he partook of something, cuz he's got a kid to prove it!" Czethros remained frozen in front of him, his red eye slowly rolling from one side to the other. Burl pressed on. "I got proof, Czethros! I got a holodisc of them—together! I got proof!"

Czethros continued to stare him down for several more long, agonizing moments before muttering to his crew, "Let him go."

The Bothan's head snapped up as he barked, "Czethros, you don't actually believe this guy—"

"Jober, shut your trap! I said let him go!" Czethros snapped. Softening his tone and glancing back at Burl, he added, "I will see this proof." Reluctantly, the aliens complied. Burl sprang from the desktop, holding his cut trousers over himself. The aliens backed off the desk as Czethros again took his seat. Reaching under, he flicked a switch and a holorecorder popped out of the desktop. Folding his hands over his chest, Czethros said, "The disc. Do you have it?"

Burl stood befuddled for a moment. He unexpectedly felt his body moving without his control, his hand reaching down as he lifted his foot from the floor. Pulling off his short boot, he reached inside and pulled out the tiny holodisc. He stepped to the desk and handed it over. Czethros nodded to the Bothan, who snatched it out of Burl's hand and slid it into the recorder.

The projector beam shot forth directly into the center of the chamber. The three-dimensional image crackled and sputtered for a brief moment before sharpening into the crystal clear life-sized form of a tall, superbly shaped girl with long raven-black curls standing in a garden. She wore a simple yet elegant gown of pale yellow, and in her arms she held a laughing, squirming dark-haired baby. She and the baby were completely surrounded by scores of wildly blooming flowers and a gentle breeze caught her lustrous hair, blowing it delicately around her pale face and shoulders. The girl was laughing as well, and she began to hum a little song to her babe as she cradled him to her chest.

A man appeared at the very edge of the image. He was slightly taller than she, wearing a snug long sleeved gray shirt and black pants. Swarthy, lean, and muscular, his sable-brown hair was cut in a military crop and his face hosted a variety of scars. Moving with slow, deliberate grace and holding the woman steadily in his dark eyes, he seemed like a predator stalking his prey: Still smiling and singing, she obviously could not hear him come up behind her. He suddenly pounced on her, throwing his arms around her waist and lifting her from the ground. The girl squealed, but not from fright. Rather, she laughed even more heartily and playfully kicked her feet as the man spun her around. Setting her down, he turned her around and planted a firm, passionate kiss upon her lips. The man reached down and touched the baby's head, gazing down at the infant with eyes brimming with pride.

"Freeze it there," Czethros commanded softly. The holographic family froze in place. Czethros placed his fingertips to his lips and glared at the image for many long moments, his red beam that was his eye scanning it over and over again. His alien cohorts waited in silence. Burl stood shaking, still holding up his pants and trying to ignore the beads of sweat cascading off his brow into his eyes. 

Without taking his eye off the hologram, Czethros demanded, "Who's the woman?"

"That's my boss, Lady I'Lai. She became governor of the planet after—"

Czethros threw his hand up, indicating to Burl to shut up. He paused for a moment, then motioned to the Snivvian to come toward him and whispered something in his ear. As the Snivvian grunted and hurried out of the room, he turned his attention back to Burl. A broad smile suddenly crept onto Czethros' face, and he rose from his chair, extending his hands toward the miner as he strode toward him. "Master Thutchen!" He slapped Burl on both arms and exclaimed, "Welcome to Ord Mantell and to my humble establishment, the Fifteen Moons Casino and Resort!" 

The Bothan, Aqualish, and the charcoal-hued Wookiee all shot bewildered glances at each other, but no one in the room was more baffled than Burl. "Uh," Burl grunted, feeling utterly beaten and confused, "thanks…I think…"__

Slipping his arm around Burl's massive shoulder, Czethros began to lead him to the side window. "Please accept my sincerest apologies for my treatment of you upon your arrival here. You see, Master Thutchen, I am the senior administrator of an intergalactic organization called Black Sun. We are a …_fraternal organization, dedicated to furthering the…quality of life for our distinguished members." He shot a glance over his shoulder to his comrades. "Isn't that right, boys?" They answered him with familiar humorless chuckles---at this point, Burl found their laughter almost comforting. Czethros continued, "All fraternal organizations have a credo and ours is…" He leaned into Burl's ear and whispered, "'Absolute discretion'." He resumed his normal volume. "So you see, when a stranger to the organization—case in point, yourself---abruptly shows up and proceeds to drop our name about in earshot of the unwitting masses, we get a little…_nervous_. You understand, don't you, son?"_

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," Burl mumbled. He looked out the window, and gasped at the scene below him. He found himself looking down three stories into a gigantic dance club, packed with hundreds of beings all swaying and dancing wildly to gyrating lights and pulsating music. "Whoa…"

Czethros grinned. "You like? Just opened the club a month ago. It has been quite successful, if I do say so myself." He turned again to the miner, and tightened his arm around his shoulder. "Master Thutchen, do you have lodging for the evening?"

"Uh, well, no sir. And now that I've been robbed—"

"Well sir, you do now. I would be very pleased if you would accept my invitation to stay in one of our opulent guest suites, on the house. It will be my way of making up for your brutish treatment here today." He glanced down at Burl's tattered trousers. "And, of course, we will provide you with some… suitable attire. Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tonight? After you've been shown to your suite and freshened up a bit? We can further discuss the details of your knowledge regarding Boba Fett over a proper meal." He finished his speech with an icy grin.

Burl finally felt himself relaxing under Czethros' arm. "Uh, yeah, that would be swell, sure!"

Czethros leaned into his ear and murmured, "I take it you like women?"

The miner suddenly brightened. "Oh yeah, sure I do!"

Czethros turned over his shoulder to the Wookiee. "Send him Aleste." He turned to Burl again and announced, "Master Thutchen, please indulge whatever your heart desires as my personal guest!" He gestured toward the Wookiee. "Trodeccuu here will escort you to your suite, and I will see you in approximately two hours. Agreed?"

Burl was positively beaming now. "Yeah, yeah, sure, ok!" Czethros extended his hand, and Burl shook it in ferocious enthusiasm. "Thank you, oh, thank you, sir!"

"The pleasure is all mine, Master Thutchen," Czethros crooned as the surly-looking Wookiee led Burl toward the door. As they left the chamber, Czethros' smile faded into a pensive scowl. He turned and barked at the Twi'leki female, "Wait for me in my apartments." She hurriedly left as well. Turning to the Aqualish, he ordered, "Run a check on this imbecile. Find out everything you can about him, right down to what he had for breakfast five years ago." The alien bowed his head and shuffled out the door, leaving Czethros alone with the Bothan known as Jober.

Jober leaned against the wall once again, crossing his ankles and folding his arms. "I don't get it---five minutes ago, you were ready to cut his balls off. And now you give him a bed, food, and a woman. What's next, boss? Feeding some orphans?"

"Only to my Rancor, Jober," Czethros snarled. The head of Black Sun casually strode around the glimmering holographic image, hands clasped behind his back, taking in every angle. 

"Don't tell me you believe that idiot." 

"Yes, I do believe him. He comes here with information. He wants no money. He wants no job. He says someone supposedly 'sent' him here, but he cannot tell me who. So what reason would he have to tell me this? I'm guessing revenge. Works for me."

The Bothan gestured toward the man in the hologram. "How do you know that's Fett? That could be anybody."

"It could be anybody, but it's not. It's him." Czethros stopped directly in front of Fett's image, leaning in as though he were actually standing toe-to-toe with the bounty hunter. His bionic eye slid sidelong to stare at Jober. "I, like most in this galaxy, have never seen Fett's face. But the way he moves will forever be engrained in my memory." He pointed to the baby. "And notice how the child looks nothing like Reynau Denivrian." Slowly, almost tenderly, he lifted his hand as if to caress the woman's face. His mouth curled into a sneer as he said, "So, the Angel of Orri Prime isn't such an angel after all."

Jober moved up alongside him, taking in her visage as well. "You lost me, boss. Who's Reynau Denivrian?"

Czethros sighed in mild exasperation. "Jober, for a Bothan, you are remarkably ignorant of current events." He turned back to the hologram. "The Lady I'Lai is already becoming somewhat of an icon for the New Republic. She was the concubine of Reynau Denivrian, and for some reason only our late Emperor knows, he miraculously and unexpectedly proclaimed her governor of the Dia-Orri system after the Grand Moff's death. Almost immediately upon her promotion, she freed all the slaves on the planet of Orri Prime and used her own personal wealth to build their townships and schools and pay them wages. Those mental midgets who frequent the holonet have dubbed her 'The Angel of Orri Prime.'" He continued as he strode back to his chair. "Several months after Denivrian's death, Lady I'Lai gave birth to a son everyone presumed belonged to him." He smirked as he added, "If you compare the faces there, you can tell that is obviously not the case." He took his seat.

"You seem to know a lot about this Lady I'Lai, Czethros."

"You would too--- if your clan hadn't exiled you." Jober shot a dangerous glare at Czethros—he ignored it. "She sent all freed Bothan slaves back to Bothuwai upon their emancipation. Hence, she has gained your people's respect and undying gratitude and used it as an advantage during the Galactic Civil War." He caught Jober's rather dubious expression and replied, "When you head the galaxy's largest underworld organization, you must keep up on these things. Besides, I have been watching the shipping activity from Orri Prime closely for some time now."

Jober kept his eyes squarely on the image of the smiling I'Lai. "I wouldn't mind watching her more closely. She is…delicious," he muttered in a ravenous growl.

"Down, Jober," Czethros growled in return, "Try to hold your glands in check while viewing a human female." Lazily hoisting his boots onto the desktop, he clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back. "Well Fett, it seems death really is too good for you. All the better for me."

The Bothan threw his employer a warning frown. "If you're thinking about revenge, Czethros, just remember what happened to Prince Xizor."

"My hirsute friend, a day doesn't go by that I don't think about our dear departed Xizor. Poor, misguided, stupid Xizor…it is because of him that I am here today." He glanced back to Jober. "Do not fret. Revenge may be sweet, but rarely is it profitable." He paused, again scanning the hologram in front of him. "However, rarer still does an opportunity come along that one can combine the two. Do we still have any contact whatsoever with what remains of the Empire?" 

"I still have my associates sir, yes."

"Good, contact them. I'm sure there must be one Imp left with half a brain that will be interested in what I have to offer them." Jober bowed slightly to his superior, drinking in one long, last look at the image of I'Lai before heading out the door.

Czethros stood from his chair and walked again toward the hologram. Planting himself directly in front of the unmasked Boba Fett, a twisted smile formed below his glowing eye. "So, Fett," he whispered, "There is a chink in your armor after all…" 

* * *


	3. Stirrings of Light and Shadow

OK, just to let you all know right now that this is NOT ALL OF CHAPTER 3. Like so many other writers here on this site and just about all over the world, I have run head-smack into a bad case of WRITER'S BLOCK. But instead of waiting for some sort of divine inspiration or for my new head to come from E-bay, I decided just to post what I have so far. I hope you all enjoy what's here and I promise the rest is coming soon!

Ivy

Episode 2

Chapter Three

Stirrings Of Light and Shadow

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN EIGHT MORE WEEKS?" Lando Calrissian bellowed into the com. 

Ralan Stitz stopped dead in his tracks as he was about to enter his superior's office. Slinking back behind the doorjamb, he nervously clutched his datapads to his side and rolled his eyes as he listened to Lando's furious diatribe. The Baron was still in a foul mood, as he had been for the last week since his last meeting with Lady I'Lai and her bounty-hunter lover. It was going to be another long day.

"Listen," Lando growled into the small mic, "I ordered those parts over three months ago, and now you're telling me that I have to wait another eight standard weeks! I'm sitting on top of the richest durasteel mine in the galaxy with no protection save for five X-wing fighters and—" He was curtly cut off by a stream of babble that sounded suspiciously Neimoidian. He raised his brows as he angrily replied, "Not your problem, huh? Well, I'll make it your problem if you don't get those plasma generator parts to me by the end of the week! I've got eighty perimeter defense satellites rusting in storage with no weapons and—" More babbling. "Yes, I DO have to take that tone with you! What? Oh no, you did NOT just say that! I want to speak with your superior—Hello? HELLO?? AGH!" He slammed his palm against the com button and stormed about his office. "Neimoidian crooks! You can't tell me the Empire isn't paying them off to hold our shipments! If the Imps can't beat us with sheer force, then they'll bribe whomever they can in the Corporate Sector! Slimy, mangy little--" He stopped his furious pacing. "STITZ!" The only part of Stitz that appeared in the door was the top of his head and two large, anxious eyes peering from behind the doorjamb. "Get them back on com! I don't care if I have to scream my way up to the corporate czar, I want an answer TODAY!"

"Um…a suggestion, sir?" Stitz muttered nervously while clearing his throat.

Lando shot him a glare. "What?"

Breathing deeply, Stitz said in his most controlled tones, "You may want to think about calming down first, sir." He flinched.

Lando opened his mouth, fully intent on unleashing a new tirade on his assistant, when he stopped himself. Exhaling sharply, he leaned on his desk and took a few deep breaths himself. He looked up at the young man. "You're right, Captain. Screaming isn't going to get me anywhere. Especially with Neimoidian generator salesmen. It's just that the longer we wait for those parts, the longer we'll be at risk for an attack, either by the Empire or…aagh." He took his seat and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "I have to admit that sometimes I miss the complete autonomy I had on Cloud City. I had ways around such red tape and headaches there but, unfortunately, President Organa wants everything 'by the book'." He sighed. "I don't know…I think this position is getting to me."

Stitz meekly stepped into Lando's office and shut the door behind him. "Sir, permission to speak? Candidly?" He lowered his tone a bit. "As a friend?"

The Baron lowered his hand from his eyes and looked at his assistant. "Granted, Ralan."

Stitz paused for a moment, weighing his words carefully before speaking. "Is it the position that's getting to you, sir…or her?"

Lando again glared at Stitz, narrowing his eyes. "And just who are we talking about, Stitz?"

"The Lady I'Lai, sir." 

"That is none of your business, Captain," Lando grumbled under his breath.

"Well, in a way, it is. She…has this affect on everyone, Baron. You wouldn't be the first." Stitz braced himself for Lando's seething reaction: He breathed a sigh of relief when the Baron said nothing. He pressed on. "I know you two had words at your last meeting, and you haven't spoken since. And I also know you have…deep feelings for her."

"And just how do you know that?" Lando muttered warily.

"Because…I do too." He noted the surprised look in Lando's eyes before continuing. "I'Lai just seems to have this…influence on people, particularly men. It isn't intentional; she doesn't even realize she does. She just naturally draws people to her, makes them…want her. Want to please her, to be close to her. To love her." A half-smile tugged at his lip. "Maybe it's pheromones. Maybe it's because she's a Force sentient. Or maybe it's because she is a beautiful woman with a decent heart. I don't know, but I can tell you this; the first few months I was stationed here undercover for the Alliance and working so closely with her, I couldn't get her off my mind. I dreamt about her every night. That was partly the reason I petitioned for the position as your assistant here in the Southern hemisphere. I hate to say this, but…I needed to distance myself from her because I was, and still am, very much in love with her." 

Lando sat silent for many long moments, contemplating his assistant's words. He had been feeling like a desperate moon-eyed schoolboy in her presence for weeks. Gods knew I'Lai wasn't the first beautiful woman who had ever turned his head. Frankly, he had lost count of his romantic conquests years ago, and he had actually been quite fond of several of them. So why did this woman seem to drive him so crazy? Was it just her beauty, or her intelligence mixed with her oddly engaging naïveté? Was it her dignified manner and her engrained gentility? Or was it because she only regarded Lando as a friend while endearing herself to a cruel, ruthless mercenary he thought beneath her, a man who had been, and quite possibly still was, his mortal enemy?

He suddenly smirked in his reverie---maybe Stitz had a point. He had carefully watched Boba Fett's conduct around I'Lai, and noticed how he seemed to soften around her. Well, maybe _soften _wasn't the word; but he was definitely less brutal in her presence, and she seemed have a soothing affect on the notorious bounty hunter…if I'Lai could tame Fett's angry feral heart, why wouldn't she have the same affect on a suave, debonair urbanite like himself? Perhaps there was something within her, something intangible, mysterious…

Finally, he said in a quiet tone, "So…you took this position to heal your heart. What do you advise I do, Captain Stitz? Leave Orri Prime entirely?"

Stitz smiled softly. "No, not at all, sir. Just accept that she has made her choice and respect it, no matter how much you disagree with it. And don't stop loving her. Remain her good friend and advisor. Respectfully, sir."

Lando pursed his lips, giving Stitz a sidelong glance. "Ralan, how old are you?"

"Twenty-two, sir."

"You could've fooled me." A pause. "Thank you."

Stitz's smile broadened. "You're welcome, sir. I'll see if I can get Gen Corp back on com." He turned to leave, but then remembered something. "Oh, I almost forgot—Gadd Thutchen called earlier regarding his brother Burl's absence. I told him Burl had left the planet, probably for a brief vacation and that he shouldn't worry."

Lando's brow wrinkled deeply as he sat straighter in his chair. "Burl Thutchen left the planet? By whose authority?"

Stitz furrowed his brow in response. "Why…by yours, sir. I have the leave authorizations right here." He extended one of the datapads in his arm to Lando. As Lando took it, he pointed to the screen. "That's your electronic stamp, isn't it?"

Lando perused the screen. He shook his head. "I never approved this."

"But sir, your stamp—"

"I think I would have remembered approving the passport of a man I just dismissed from the militia, Stitz!" Lando snapped. He looked at the screen again. "This was dated a week ago! He's been gone that long?"

"It appears so, sir. Is this a problem, sir?"

He looked at Stitz from under his brow. "It could be, Captain." He rose from his chair. "Run a check on that passport. I want to know where he's been. And I want it yesterday, understand?"

Stitz drew himself to attention. "Yes, sir." As he left Calrissian's office, he pondered whether to mention the missing security holodisc from the Lady I'Lai's private garden recorder, but quickly decided that this was definitely not the time…

*** * ***

BOUNTY: Nikto—Red Mutation, male

NAME: Nnsheeat, Baac

ALIASES: Bacan Two-sheets, Crea'lee Sgl-cantara, Brakendi sot Red

WANTED FOR: Grand Theft Starship, Fraud (30 counts), Assault, Assault with a deadly weapon, Petty Larceny

CONTRACTOR: To'ok Cambri, CSA

REWARD: 50K c. live, 25K c. dead

"Fifty grand, hmm, Baac?" Fett muttered as he flicked a bit of dust off the viewer. His voice became as cool as tempered steel. "Your time is coming."

The quiet beep of the nav system alerted him that the _Slave I_ was nearing its destination. Expertly running his hands over the controls, he reined the vessel back from its velocity through hyperspace, easing it until the stars no longer streaked in ribbons in front of him and space itself once again became black and mute. He couldn't help but take a brief second to run his palm across the slick edge of the control console of his most prized possession: He had missed it as he had missed the frigid vacuity of space, the jolt of g-forces when entering hyperspace. The _Slave I_ was more to him than just a ship. It was his comrade in arms, his trusted companion, the very extension of himself, as it was almost as infamous as he. It had been quite literally his cradle and, Slayer willing, would be his sepulcher when the inevitable finally came.

_I hope you know how lucky you are, Calrissian_, he thought to himself. _If you had done any damage to this ship… no one would ever find you._

The Y'Toub system ascended from just below the artificial horizon line. As Nal Hutta and its port moon Nar Shaddaa morphed into clarity through the viewshield, Fett punched the nav coordinates into the computer. Conquered by the Hutts centuries earlier, the repulsive slug-like race had named the planet Nal Hutta--- "Glorious Jewel" in Basic. What a joke. Nal Hutta was about as glorious and jewel-like as day-old milk-ale vomit. A colossal world the color of fermented pus, it had little more to offer than massive methane swamps and the distasteful Huttese architecture that slowly sank into them. _If Tatooine is the ass-end of the universe_, Fett mused, _then Nal Hutta is a hemmoroid._

He switched on the stealth system: Since Nar Shaddaa was not his immediate destination, there was no need for anyone to know he was coming…yet. Besides, he had never been entirely welcome here in the Corellian sector, so why call attention. Fett smirked as he glanced at the variety of other vessels surrounding him on their way to the Smuggler's Moon, completely oblivious of his presence within their formations.

"Cam Sss'krate," he whispered as he noted one beaten wreck of a ship in particular. "You still owe me ten thousand credits, _friend_."

Fett sighed. Cam, Baac Nnsheeat, the scores of other bounties he had been downloading in recent days and the fortunes they would bring in…would simply have to wait. He needed to remain dead to the galaxy a while longer.

As his neighboring ships headed straight toward the eyesore of jutting steel towers and landing platforms that Nar Shaddaa had become over the years, the _Slave I_ veered in a graceful arc around it. As Fett shot one last glance at the Smuggler's Moon, he unexpectedly conjured an image of I'Lai on that moon, clutching Kai to her breast, looking lost and frightened amidst the smugglers, pirates, criminals, and all-around scum. He suddenly envisioned a band of such scum grabbing her off the mesh-metal streets, pulling her into an alley, her eyes huge with terror, screaming his name---

He frowned as he shook the image from his mind's eye. Why the hell think something like that? He would never bring her or his son to a place like this. He would never expose them to this life. He had left her and Kai safe amongst the trees and blooming flowers on her mountainous paradise of Orri Prime…

As he would always have to leave her…

"Stop it," he admonished himself in a growl, curling his fist. "No distractions." He steered the ship further away from Nar Shaddaa and headed toward a tiny mud-brown dot in the distance…

* * *

Although Nar Shaddaa was Nal Hutta's only specific moon, the gaseous planet had several hundred tiny asteroid-like satellites orbiting its noxious girth. Theory stated that Nal Hutta might have had several moons in the prehistoric past that had fallen victim to meteor strikes, thus pulverizing them into nothing more than dust and floating rocks. The Hutts, however repugnant in both body and soul, still had the wondrous capability to make a profit off ANYTHING, including the seemingly useless natural satellites. As many of these asteroids actually had substantial mass for colonizing, they sold many of them off as private homesteads (their marketing tag line read, "Own your own little planet for a fraction of conquering one! Atmosphere and grav systems not included"). Since there were so many of these small craggy satellites, the Hutts generally sold them for a song, and usually to somewhat disreputable, down-on-their luck individuals of all races and species who were either hiding out from various galactic governments or just preferred to keep to themselves.

Watto, the junk-dealing waspy-winged Toydarian pod-race enthusiast and overall compulsive gambler formerly of Tatooine was one of them; although even he wasn't entirely sure which category he fell into.

Having purchased his little piece of iron-cored paradise some dozen standard years earlier, Watto tapped his seldom-used technological genius to terra-form the planetoid quite nicely as well as build a somewhat sophisticated gravity wheel around his little world. Not one for auspicious titles or flowery monikers, he simply called his new home "Watto's Swap and Trade—Make Your Visit Worth My Time or Go Away." Although this new shop didn't quite make the money his former one on Tatooine had, Watto still managed to run a tidy little business off the smugglers and degenerates who would occasionally check out his inventory for some rare or cheap spare part needed for their ships or weapons. True, he couldn't afford to keep slaves any longer, but this didn't upset him much. Slaves were handy yes, but somewhat expensive to house, feed, and clothe. And frankly, after learning the sad news of his former slave Shmi's horrific death some thirty years ago, he decided that his slave-owning days were over. A cold-hearted Toydarian he may be, but a cold-hearted monster he was not.

So Watto's day this day started the usual way: He shook himself awake out of his cot, drank himself out of his hangover with a mug of hot pepper tea, watered his oxygen-producing asigan trees with the contents of that morning's moisture vaporator, checked the latest Bantha race results via holonet, cursed and screamed as he sent MORE money to his bookie, and flapped himself about his duralloy-constructed shop while waiting for any—ANY—potential customers. Fortunately for Watto, this day would not end in fiscal disappointment as so many of the last several dozens of days had.

There was a knock on the door. Actually, it was more like a thunderous steady pounding that caused the Toydarian to shriek like a hatchling-girl and throw an armful of various-sized droid restraining bolts toward the junk-laden ceiling. He beat his wings furiously as he gravitated toward his planetoid monitoring system and kicked the viewscreen with equal irritation. "Damn stupid piece of crap on the fritz again! Supposed to warn me when someone's coming, stupid—agh!" He tossed his hands in frustration as he floated toward the front door. He made no move toward the door controls, but rather slid open a small peep slot and before he even got a good look at the stranger on the other side, he bellowed, "What you want?"

His glare was met by nothing more than the dark opaque tint of pilot's goggles framed by the gray wraps of a head swath. For a split second Watto's wings stopped beating and he almost fell to the ground as he thought he was staring into the face of a Tusken Raider! As he caught himself at the last moment by hooking his fingers into the slot and pulled himself up, his fears were assuaged when he heard the low, cool, gravelly voice of a human male reply, "I'm here to contract your services." 

Watto grimaced and twitched his bent snout. "Ju got an appointment?"

The stranger turned his head over his shoulder, obviously seeking out the swarm of folks clamoring for Watto the Magnificent and his wondrous skills, and finding nothing but a few trees and piles of scrap metal strewn about what could loosely be called a yard. He turned back and muttered, "Do I need one?"

The Toydarian scowled again, irritated that his bluff had been called. "What kind of service ju want? Ju need parts, or something fixed?"

"Word on the net says you can build armor."

The elated symbols of credits danced across Watto's mind just as irritation at the thought of months of grueling work over a hot forge knotted in his gut. "Jes, I can do that," Watto grumbled. "What ju need? A piece or full suit?"

"Full suit."

"Full suit, ha? Dat will be very expensive, friend."

"Money is no object." The stranger hissed a lightly aggravated sigh. "Are you going to let me in? Or do you normally conduct all your business through a hole in the door?"

"Dat depends. Ju armed?"

"Of course," the stranger snorted. "I'm not going to rob you, don't worry. I'll make it worth your time."

Watto hesitated for a brief moment, then pressed the OPEN button on the door.

If Watto had had any hair on the back of his neck, it would have surely been standing on end as the tall stranger glided through the door with predatory ease. The Toydarian could see no hint of a face through the stranger's head wrap or goggles, although he held Watto firmly in his glare. Even with his dark gray mantle swathed about his shoulders and torso, Watto could see the man was powerfully built and lean, and could probably snap his neck with a mere touch. The man wore a gun belt slung low on his hips with a hand blaster strapped to his thigh. Watto could not decipher the man's race whatsoever, for even his hands were covered with gray leather gloves.

The stranger glanced about Watto's dilapidated shop and home, with mechanical parts of every kind piled about the floor and furniture or hooked into the walls and ceiling and covered with several weeks worth of dust and grime. He folded his arms over his chest. "Nice place. Who's your decorator?"

"Funny," Watto scoffed in spite of his intimidation. Flapping toward a seemingly high pile of junk, Watto flung his short little arm over the top, sliding the parts off the top of what happened to be a table. He did the same to the smaller pile next to it, revealing a chair. "Have a seat, stranger." The stranger complied, easing himself into the chair and throwing his feet on the table, crossing his ankles and never taking his goggles off the Toydarian. He reached into a satchel at his side and withdrew a short cigar, parting his face wrap just enough to stick it in his lips. Withdrawing his blaster from the holster, he adjusted a button on the side and pulled the trigger. Watto was about to shriek in terror when he saw nothing more than a tiny light blue flame come from the muzzle, with which the stranger lit his cigar. Watto sighed in relief as the stranger put out the flame and took several long, satisfied puffs.

Struggling to maintain his gruff demeanor, Watto asked, "So, what kind of armor ju got in mind, friend?"

Reaching into the satchel once again, the stranger pulled out a tiny holodisc. "I have the specs. You have a recorder?"

"Uh, jes…gimme a second." Watto took the disc from his hand and floated over to another pile of junk. Again, he swiped his arm across the top, sending the mess in all directions, revealing an old, outdated holorecorder. He slipped the disc into the machine, switched in on, and then kicked it swiftly. The projection beam sputtered forth toward the tabletop, and a small image formed next to the stranger's feet, turning slowly in a three-sixty radius. There stood a humanoid male fully clad in the utterly unobtainable yet infamously unmistakable armor of the ancient Mandelore…

Watto suddenly slammed his small fist into the holorecorder panel. The hologram blinked off as the Toydarian turned to the stranger and shouted, "GET OUT!"

Even if Watto couldn't see the stranger's face, there was no mistaking the glint of amusement in his voice. "Come again?"

"Ju heard me, get out! Ju want me to build DAT? Are you crazy? Believe me, ju ain't de first sped who's come in here asking for dat! Now stop wasting my time and get out!"

The stranger made absolutely no attempt to leave. On the contrary, he stretched himself even further in the chair, clasping his hands behind his head as he spoke through the stub of his cigar. "I'm afraid I don't follow you, friend."

"Listen, I run a clean business here, wit no worries or hassles! And de last ting I need is BOBA FETT coming after me cuz some punk-ass space jockey want to play dress-up—"

"What are you worried about?" The stranger asked, his voice cool and steady and still laced with mild enjoyment. "Boba Fett is dead." 

"Jeah, right!" Watto snorted, throwing his tiny arms in the air. "How many times has Boba Fett been dead, huh? Twenty, thirty times? A hundred? And he always come back, ALWAYS! Bastard can't be killed, and ju know dat! I don't need dat kind of heat! Now get out!"

"I told you, money's no object—"

"I don't care!" Watto shouted. "I ain't ready to go to hell yet! Go, NOW!"

The stranger sat still for a few moments more, then shrugged. "All right, if you insist…" He pulled his legs off the table top and stood, crushing his cigar out under his boot. He started toward the door, then stopped, turning his covered head back toward Watto. "I have one more request, if you're still interested in making some cash. So the day's not a total loss."

Watto scowled again, folding his arms over himself. "What?"

"I've been having some trouble with the anti-grav system on my ship. Mind checking it out? See if you can do anything for it?" 

Watto hesitated, mulling the offer over. "OK, I'll look at it. And then you go, right?"

"If you still want me to go, you have my word."

"OK, let's go." Watto flapped to the door and opened it, and the two exited into the dark, murky thin atmosphere of Watto's Swap and Trade. "Where you parked?"

"Half a kilometer that way." The stranger began walking, with Watto floating behind him.

They had walked a few paces when Watto grumbled, "Jour ship didn't show up on my alert system. Damn ting on de fritz again!"

"Your system is fine. I jammed your sensors."

Watto furrowed his brow and wrinkled his beak. "What ju mean?"

"I have a stealth system."

The Toydarian's eyes widened in shock. "Ju do? What's jour ship's make?"

"A Kuat Firespray-31 cargo ship," the stranger replied.

"A Firespray??"

"With a few modifications."

Watto blew a whistle through his lip flaps as they crossed under the gravitational wheel. "Dat's a pretty rare ship, friend. De only one I know who got a ship like dat is—" Watto's voice trailed off, and his jaw slacked open as the stranger's ship suddenly loomed over the planetoid's short horizon. This time, his wings did stop flapping, and he fell to the ground to land on his bottom with a soft THUNK. He just sat there as he gawked at the _Slave I_.

It was then the stranger stopped and turned back to Watto. Setting his gloved hands on his hips, he asked with subdued amusement, "So, still worried about Boba Fett?"

Watto slowly turned his eyes to the stranger, his mouth still agape with absolute astonishment. It took him several moments to find his voice again. "It's…ju? Da bounty hunter? Ju really him?"

"Appears so, doesn't it?" He stepped back toward Watto, looming over him and folding his arms. Watto could see his own reflection in the stranger's goggles. The humor in Boba Fett's voice had vanished, replaced with menacing gravity. "Ready to change your mind about building that armor?"

"Uh, er, duh…" Watto stammered as he fought for his breath. Finally finding it, he launched himself of the ground, madly flapping his wings. "JES! Jes, of course, fine sir! I would be entirely honored to serve you…Boba Fett!" He suddenly grinned and extended his hand for Fett to shake it.

"Yes, you would," Fett replied in a low snarl, completely ignoring Watto's gesture and striding back toward the shop.

Watto turned around and furiously beat his wings in order to catch up with the bounty hunter. Sidling up to him, the Toydarian stammered and sputtered like a repulsor engine with treacle in its tank. "Oh, but de gods must be smiling on me this day! To have DE Fett here, on my little world! See, I knew ju weren't dead! I'm a big fan, BIG fan, sir!" He floated up into Fett's view. "Whatever ju need, I can get it for ju! I have many connections, Watto does! What ju like? Alderaani wine? Corellian ale? Glitterspice? I can get it! Ju like girls, huh? I can get ju a girl! She may not be entirely human, but ju would like her, I bet! Anything ju want, Boba Fett, anything! Ju just name it!"

"I want you to shut up and open the door."

"Uh, right." Watto complied, and Fett strode through, heading back to the holorecorder and switching it on. The hologram of his father Jango reappeared on the tabletop.

"This is the armor I want. All combat systems are to be fully integrated to neuro-muscular impulses. Wrist lasers and flamethrower, grenade launchers, rocket darts, all. No switches, nothing where I need to use two hands. Learned that the hard way." Fett gestured to the hologram's helmet. "The helmet is the central location for all com and perception systems and is entirely voice-activated. The visor has infrared motion detectors and macrobinoculars directly installed. Sound sensors here, comlink here, and broad-band antenna implanted here." He pointed to the armor's back. "Dual-charge jet pack will now be installed directly into a plasteel casing, with redundant switch in the chest plate. The suit will have a sealed enviro filter with hydrating option and an oxygen capacity of four hours." Fett turned to Watto, who sat in his chair, staring blankly at the specs before him. "Got it?"

The Toydarian ran his short arm over his sweating brow. "Master Fett, uh, sir…I…never build something dis complex before. It…well, it will take much time—"

"How long?"

"Phew…seven standard months. Maybe six if I hurry—"

"You have one."

"ONE MONTH?" Watto exclaimed, jumping out of his seat and hovering about his shop. "I can't do dis in a month! It will take up whole day, every day! I got a business to run, and customers—"

"As of this moment, I'm your only customer," Fett stated. Before Watto could retort, he threw a tiny datapad at the alien. "That's your deposit. The rest will be paid upon completion within the time frame I gave you."

After fumbling to catch the datapad in mid-air, Watto perused the numbers on the screen—and once again fell flat on his can in the chair. It was more money than Watto had made in the last five years. It was even more than he had gambled away. And this was just the deposit!

Still, he shook his head. "But…only one month? I can't possibly build dese systems ju want in such a short time—"

"You worry about the plating. I'll worry about the systems. Agreed?"

Swallowing hard as to make sure his tongue was still firmly set in his beak, Watto wheezed, "It will be a pleasure doing business wit ju."

"Yes, it will---as long as you listen carefully." Moving toward Watto in a slow, menacing manner, he pulled the goggles up, revealing his black serpentine eyes, and bore them into the alien's petrified orbs. "I will be residing here throughout the building process. You will completely close shop for the time I am here. And after I'm gone…you will never mention this to anyone for the rest of your miserable life, understood? So get those thoughts of using me as some sort of ad campaign out of your thick skull right now. If I find out you told anyone about our business relationship here… I will come back for you." He leaned into the Toydarian's beak and whispered, "A junk-dealing alcoholic Toydarian with a gambling problem living on an asteroid in the middle of nowhere wouldn't exactly be missed, Watto." Placing his hands on the arms of Watto's chair, Fett leaned in even closer. "Don't you agree?"

Watto was so terrified he could not utter a peep. He just sat slinked in his chair, staring up into those eyes as cold and void as space itself, and waggled his head in tight nod.

"Good," Fett replied. Rising up, he pulled the goggles back over his black eyes. "One more thing. I'll need to pick up supplies and components on Nar Shaddaa and I don't want to take my own ship. So you will give me full access to your shuttle at all times."

"My shuttle? But I need dat—" Watto exclaimed. The quick shot of Fett's head in his direction and the bounty hunter's imposing stance convinced the Toydarian to change his tone immediately. "Uh, I mean, of course, sir. Whatever ju need."

Fett stood there and regarded the Toydarian for a moment. The alien was so utterly terrified of him; he would probably fly around on one wing banging a pot on his head if Fett told him to. There had been a time when this show of fearful respect was what Fett would expect, even demand. But suddenly, for no tangible reason, Watto's fear of him made Fett feel… cheap. Here he was, pushing some alien around in his own home, who was a third his size and had a tenth of his intelligence—and a being he was hiring, no less. Fett was unsure which bothered him more—what he was doing, or the fact that he actually felt BAD about it. What the hell was wrong with him? This never bothered him before…

The hunter took in a long, deep breath through his nose and blew it out. Placing his hands on his hips, he jerked his head to the side several times until he heard the satisfying crack of his neck bones. He relaxed his posture as he turned to the visibly anxious Watto. "I've had a long trip," he finally said, breaking the shop's silence. "I'm heading back to my ship to rest. I'll come back at oh-six hundred. We'll sit down and go over the schematics, and figure out what we'll need to purchase moon-side."

As Fett started toward the door, he was stopped by Watto's raspy yet quiet voice, which asked, "Why, Master Fett?"

Fett stopped and turned. "Why what?"

"Why me?" Watto's eyes were, for a moment, almost those of a baffled child. "You could have any armorer in de galaxy build dis for ju. Skilled people, far more skilled dan me. Why ju come to me?"

"I've seen some of your work. You are as skilled as any armorer out there. Besides, you said it best, Watto," Fett said as he pushed open the door. " 'No hassles, no worries', right?" With that, he strode through.

He trudged through the loose dust of Watto's asteroid back to his ship. Upon entering, he moved to the cockpit, eased himself into his pilot's chair, removed his gloves, and pressed a button. He sat back and, with just a trace of an unconcious smile tugging his lip, watched a hologram of I'Lai reading a bedtime story to Kai.

* * *


	4. Stirrings of Light and Shadowpart 2

OK, so Chapter three ain't comin' together all that quick in my puny little brain, so once again, I'm posting what I have so far. Again, this is not all of it—sigh. Hope y'all enjoy!

Ivy

Grimacing, Jober tried to distract himself by watching airspeeders race by the huge windows as he waited in the great room of Czethros's lush apartment. He didn't need to check his timepiece to tell him that this was the time of day Czethros had his eye sockets washed and treated--- the screams that permeated through the bedchamber doors had already alerted the Bothan of his boss's painful daily regimen.

"Fuck! GODDAMMIT! I told you to be careful, you stupid bitch! AAHHH! GET AWAY FROM ME! GET OUT! GET OUT!"

The doors slid open just as Czethros's Twi'leki concubine was hurled through them. She tried to regain her balance, only to lose her footing completely on the edge of the plush red rug adorning the floor. She cried out as she landed hard on her knees and hands, and then curled herself into a tight ball on the rug, covering her face and weeping.

Jober casually walked over to her and regarded her crumpled form for a moment before grasping one of her cranial tentacles and forcing her head up. Crying out again, she gaped at Jober with reddened tear-stained eyes. A trickle of blood ran from her nose, and the underside of her right eye was already deepening into a dark purple. He grasped her elbow and helped her to her feet. "Go clean yourself up," he muttered as he escorted her to the door. "And watch yourself, all right? He's got a lot on his mind right now."

As the Twi'kei girl stumbled through the exit, Jober slowly paced toward the bedchamber door. Taking a deep breath, he rapped his furred knuckles against the jamb a couple times. "Boss?"

Czethros's voice was low and raspy as it came through the door com. "Jober. Get your ass in here." The doors slid opened once again. Jober stepped in and respectfully remained still in the entrance.

Czethros sat shirtless at his huge vanity table, his long green hair mussed and disheveled. With one hand he feverishly reached around the vanity counter for his bionic visor while shielding his naked sockets with the other. Finally finding it to his right, he placed it back over his face and snapped it to the implants on his temples with an anguished growl. The right blip of the optical scanner resumed its side-to-side track, allowing Czethros to easily find the syringe placed directly in front of him. He picked it up and, without hesitation or ceremony, shoved the syringe straight up his right nostril. He let out one more tortured roar and beat his fist against the tabletop. After a few seconds, his entire body melted and relaxed into the fur lined chair, and Jober saw his boss transform from a crazed, wounded animal back into the controlled, frigid Supreme Vigo of Black Sun.

Keeping his steps slow as he came to Czethros's side, Jober asked, "You all right, boss?" 

Czethros lazily lifted his head toward the Bothan, a limp smirk donning his lips. "You have to appreciate the Twi'leki homeworld for two things, Jober. The skin trade for one…" He lifted the syringe in front of his face, "And ryll for another." He tossed the syringe back to the table and straightened in his chair, running a hand through the tangled mess of his hair. "Talk to me. What did we find on our 'guest'?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean, 'nothing'?" 

"I mean nothing," Jober replied with a shrug. "The guy has no background whatsoever. Only thing that showed up was his name on a planetary census conducted on Orri Prime about six months ago. Seems his story checks out—he's just some hick miner."

Czethros sat quietly for a time, rapping his fingers against the vanity top and mulling this information over in his mind. "Hmmm. Well, that does simplify things. Certainly won't bruise anyone's scales when I kill him, will it?" Rising from the chair, he strode to the ornate silver valet against the wall and picked off a sumptuous scarlet robe, draping it across his broad shoulders. "We'll keep him around a little longer. He amuses me, and he is quite the wellspring of information after a few shots of Corellian whiskey." He turned back. "Has Splitter spoken to our friends at Gen Corp?"

"Yes sir." The Bothan pulled his lips back into a toothy sneer. "The shipping manager is more than pleased by your 'contribution' to his retirement fund. He'll be holding Orri Prime's plasma gen parts for as long as you wish."

"Excellent." He planted himself directly in front of Jober, folding his arms over his chest. "And what about the Imperials?"

"I spoke with my contacts, and they inform me that the Imps are hurting, boss. Bad. Much worse than they'll let on." Jober pulled a datapad from his vest and handed it to Czethros, his fur fervently rippling. "It took a few bribes, but I got the coordinates needed, as well as the clearance codes. My contacts believe the commanding officer may be quite interested in meeting with you."

The corner of Czethros's mouth curved up in a satisfied smirk as he took the datapad from Jober. "Jober, do you believe in destiny?"

"Not really, boss."

"Well, if things keep going as smoothly as this, you will." His sneer faded as he scanned the screen. "I don't recognize these coordinates. Where the hell are they holed up?"

"The Outer Rim. Somewhere called the Maw Installation."

"Never heard of it."

Jober's lip curled, revealing his fangs. "No one has. Until now."

* * * 

The blaster shot impacted the deflector target in a perfect bulls eye, sending ripples of plasma fanning out to the edges. Fett lowered the rifle, adjusted the actuating module on the side, and aimed again. The blast shot forth in a kaleidoscope array, hitting the outer perimeters of the target perfectly in a brilliant flare.

The arms salesman blew an impressed whistle. "Nice shootin', friend. Not many can handle a Blastech EE-3 like that. Most people find it clumsy."

"Most people are clumsy, period," Fett muttered, firing again. And again, his shot was immaculate. He lowered the rifle and turned to the salesman. "You got a cutter?"

"For what?"

"For this barrel."

The salesman scowled. "You cut it, you bought it."

"No shit."

The salesman shrugged. "You got it, friend." He then reached under the counter and pulled out an energy cutter, handing it to Fett. 

Fett took it, switched it on and sliced the meter-long barrel off the bulk of the gun. As the barrel noisily clanked against the steel floor, he tossed the cutter back to the salesman, raised the rifle one more time, and fired. The blast scattered across the shooting range, hitting the target's center again—as well as scorching most of the gun shop's back wall. "That's better."

"What the—" The salesman came careening around the counter, his hands on his head. "Look what you did to my wall!"

"This should cover everything, including the paint job." With that, Fett threw a fistful of credits across the counter. He slung the rifle across his shoulder to hang with the satchels of his purchases that day. 

Once he had scanned the amount of credits, the salesman relaxed. "Oh…uh, yeah, that'll be fine." Fett started toward the door, only to stop when he heard the salesman ask, "Hey buddy, what's with the headgear? You maimed or something?"

Turning just slightly over his shoulder, the bounty hunter sarcastically muttered, "No. Just shy," and strode out the door.

The air of the Smuggler's Moon was as thick and putrid as the its general populace. Fett stood momentarily on the mesh street platform outside the gun shop, ignoring the manic array of speeders, ships, and beings that glutted every square centimeter of surface and sky Nar Shaddaa had left to offer. It had been a good day purchase-wise: He had found every component, transistor, and piece of ammo he needed for his new armor with relative ease, and this final purchase of a rare Blastech EE-3 proved satisfying. Plasteel for the plating had been bought the day before, and Watto had already begun the smelting process. Tonight he would begin building the macro-systems in between plate moldings and fittings.

At each end of the mesh street were elevator lifts so massive, they could transport up to two hundred beings at a time to any of Nar Shaddaa's vertical streets, catwalks, and spacedocks. Boba Fett, however, was never one for public transportation. As scores of bodies alien and human crammed themselves into the next available lifts, Fett drew a blaster-like device from his belt. Aiming it toward a huge steel girder thirty meters over his head, he pulled the trigger. A small barbed projectile hook burst out of the barrel, trailing a thin whipcord behind it. It hit the girder with resounding force, sinking its barbs securely into the metal. Hooking the device back into his belt, Fett flicked the winch switch and ascended off the platform, rising gracefully as speeder drivers frantically veered to keep from hitting him in mid-air.

He was fully intent on getting back to where he had docked Watto's shuttle. But after only ascending a couple dozen meters to a street called Libation Row, a flash of brilliant colors to his left caught his eye. He turned to see two enormous dead-gray fueling towers flanked on either side by a row of run-down taverns, but nestled between them was a tiny shop. Bright, colorful swags of fabric were draped in the shop's windows, and the outside of the shop was clean and freshly painted. The shop's sign simply read, "Gifts." It stuck out like a flower growing out of a scrap pile.

Fett considered the shop for a moment. He found it odd that he had never noticed it before during his numerous prior visits to the Smuggler's Moon, but now he found himself intrigued…

He swung himself in mid-air, gaining enough momentum to plant him onto the street platform. Once his feet had hit the mesh, he released the hook from the girder and recoiled the whipcord. In spite of his disguise, Fett looked to either side to see if anyone was watching him. This particular walkway, however, was empty—any beings residing on the street were in the saloons. He walked forward and opened the shop door.

The shop's interior was a completely different universe from the dirty industrial frenzy of Nar Shaddaa's outside world. The air inside was clean and fragrant. Delicate mobiles made from wire and glass hung from the ceiling. The shelves were stocked with quaint and fragile figurines, exotic flowering plants, small sculptures, and perfume bottles. There were freestanding glass jewelry cases housing all types of bodily adornments. Racks against the walls sported vibrant clothing, mostly for females or children.

Fett immediately felt uncomfortable. He turned to leave when a warm female voice chimed in Basic, "Yes sir, may I help you?" 

He'd been seen. Damn. He turned around to see an elderly, furry, and slightly chubby Bimm female standing behind the counter. She wore the traditional yellow clothing of the Bimm species as well as a wide, toothy, welcoming smile. She spoke again, saying, "Something I can help you find?"

Fett stood quiet for a moment. He awkwardly scratched his neck through the folds of his headwrap. "I…was interested in buying something. For a child."

"Well, you have come to the right place." The Bimm came around the counter, still wearing her warm, toothy grin. "A boy or a girl?"

He cleared his throat. "A boy."

The Bimm's eyes twinkled as she asked, "Your son?"

Fett paused before replying softly, "Yes."

The Bimm stepped toward him. Fett stiffened instinctively, but then reminded himself that the alien meant no harm in the action. He even allowed her to gently pat his arm as she laughed, "Oh now, there is no reason to be embarrassed. Big bad smugglers and pirates have families and sweethearts too, just like everyone else. That's why I opened shop here." She started toward the counter again. "How old is your son?"

The Bimm's warmth and openness helped Fett to relax a bit. "Five standard months."

"Oh, a baby! I adore babies." She bent down behind the counter and pulled a small, purplish sphere from underneath, placing it on the countertop. "This is a wonderful toy for infants. It's an educational toy, teaching basic astronomy, physics, mathematics, and galactic anthropology. It also teaches twelve different languages, including Huttese and high Corellian—quite useful in these parts. It uses music and colorful holograms, so your child will never get bored!"

Fett perused the device. Yes, this was familiar—he had had a learning machine similar to this when he was a child. A soft, vague memory infiltrated his consciousness along with a lost, familiar voice…

_Boba, I have something for you… _

_Really, Dad? Oh boy, what is it…?_

_Come and see…_

He shook the memory from his mind as quickly as it had come. He glanced up to the Bimm shopkeeper. "I'll take this." As the Bimm beamed and proceeded to wrap it, Fett glanced about the shop again. A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Do you have anything in the way of weapons?"

The Bimm stopped in mid-wrap, and furrowed her fuzzy brow. "For a five month old child?" 

Fett's head snapped around, and his voice was low. "Is that a problem?"

"I…well, no sir, not at all." She snapped her digits, and the smile returned. "Ah, yes, I have something. THESE have become quite popular since the Battle of Endor. And I must say, I think they're adorable!" She turned and reached to a shelf. In her palm she held a small silver hilt. She tapped a tiny button on the side, and a half-meter shaft of blue light shot out. "Isn't it precious?"

Fett curled his fist. "That's a lightsaber!" he growled through his teeth.

The Bimm lady's smile diminished somewhat, and her eyes instantly flickered in confusion and intimidation. "Well, yes…but it's not REAL, I assure you. See?" she said as she waved the beam through her paw. "It's only light. It's completely harmless. Perfect for anyone who wants to play Jedi Knight! My own little nephew loves to pretend he is Luke Skywalker battling the Emperor--"

Fett raised his hand, abruptly stopping her in mid-sentence. He glared at the toy in her hand. The very thought of Kai brandishing a lightsaber—even if it was a toy—caused his gut to knot in disgust. Taking a calming breath, he flexed his hand before placing it on his hip. "No, I don't want that. A blaster would be better."

"Oh well, yes, I have that." Putting the toy lightsaber back, she pulled a miniature replica handblaster off the shelf. "How about this?"

"Yes, I'll take that." As the Bimm added the toy to his parcel, Fett asked quietly, "Would you have anything for…for…"

"Your wife?" the Bimm asked brightly.

"The boy's mother," Fett corrected flatly.

"I have all sorts of pretty things. What did you have in mind?"

He paused, frowning under his face wrap. It suddenly occurred to him that he had never given I'Lai a gift before: In fact, he had never bought a gift for a woman, period. What should he ask for? What, in this entire galaxy, could possibly be suitable for I'Lai? "Something…beautiful. Elegant. Like her." He looked up from the countertop. "The most expensive thing you have."

The Bimm's eyes lit up, and her grin became subtle and satisfied. "Looks like I'll be closing early today." She bustled toward the back of the shop, and Fett heard the sound of rustling. Upon her return, she held a tiny, intricate crystal sculpture of a poised, long-necked alien bird, its wings spread wide in a graceful display. "I'm not even supposed to have this," she whispered. "Anything made of ilum crystal is illegal." She furrowed her brow. "Well, at least it was during the Emperor's reign. I don't know about now. Well, anyway…look." She flicked a miniscule switch on the base of the sculpture. As the crystal bird began to rotate, a sweet, lovely tune emitted from it. Suddenly, an ethereal hologram of a stunning white bird rose up from the sculpture, sweeping through the glass mobiles of the ceiling. "Isn't it beautiful? It can be programmed with any tune you like, and the bird changes color according to whatever spectrum that particular musical key is in."

Fett watched the bird morph from dazzling white to a soft blue, then to a vibrant gold, all the while singing its sweet song. The corner of his lip tugged up. "She likes birds," he murmured, almost inaudibly. He turned to the shopkeeper. "I'll take it."

"But…you don't even know how much it is—"

"I don't care. Wrap it up."

"Excellent choice, sir." Shutting it off, the Bimm placed the sculpture in a light yet strong duralloy packing box and bagged it with the toys. Fett placed a purse of credits on the counter, grabbed the satchel and, nodding his thanks to the shopkeeper, started toward the door.

Just as he was about to leave, the Bimm chirped after him, "I'm sure your family will love these gifts."

He stopped in his tracks. He turned and regarded the Bimm lady, who was still standing behind the counter, smiling brightly. She reminded him of Nikoa, I'Lai's maid, who was also warm and kind. And for a brief moment, he found himself thinking of someone else. Someone tall, alien, and pale…Taun We. Besides Jango, she had been the closest thing he had ever had to…

_Family._

The tender impact of the Bimm's words suddenly began to sink in. "My family," he whispered. He lifted his head a bit and, meeting the Bimm's smiling eyes through his goggles, replied quietly, "Yes, I'm sure they will."

The shop door slid open, and Boba Fett stepped out into the street—only to be knocked to the ground by what seemed to be brown fur wrapped around a two and a half meter wall of muscle and bone.

The instant Fett's shoulders had hit the hard mesh walkway, he instinctively flung his legs over his head and snapped them forward into a kip, hurling himself back onto his feet. He dropped the sack of gifts to the ground, swung his rifle into his hand, and took instant aim straight at the roaring Wookiee's head—

"Whoa, whoa, WHOA!! Hey, stop, both of you—STOP! CHEWIE!"

Fett held his stance and his fire as he watched an intoxicated Han Solo, dressed in civvies and a long dark duster, stumble in front of a drunk Chewbacca.

"Chewie, back off!" Solo ordered, planting a firm hand on the Wookiee's massive chest. Chewbacca in turn roared at his captain, gesturing in sluggish anger at Fett. "No, he didn't get in your way. You knocked him down because you're drunk!" Another series of growls ensued, and Solo replied with inebriated logic, "Yeah, I know I am too—but you don't see me barreling down the street like a rusty AT-AT now, do you? Now just…relax." As Chewbacca huffed and backed away in a heavy stumble, Solo turned to Boba Fett, who still held his deadly aim, and waved his hand. "Hey pal, put it away, OK? It was an accident. Are you all right?"

Fett narrowed his eyes behind his goggles. _He doesn't know me_, he thought. He lowered his rifle and straightened up. He nodded once.

Solo was trying his best to appear sober—and doing a lousy job of it. Rubbing his nose and pulling himself straight, he blurted, "You have to forgive my friend here, buddy. You know Wookiees can't hold their liquor like we can, right?" He snorted a laugh through his nose, and took a step forward. "Come on, let me by you a drink, OK?"

Fett stepped back and raised the rifle to his side, shaking his head.

Solo immediately stepped back and raised his hands. "Hey, whoa, no need to be like that, pal. Just trying to be friendly."

A smile suddenly tugged at Fett's lip under his face wrap. Lowering his rifle again, Fett said, "Oi'ya cantai mai'tee tunu'cacat, Oriti," in ancient Mandelore. Translated: "Glad to see you're still an idiot, Solo."

Han knit his brows for a second. "Wha…? Oh…don't speak Basic, huh? Um, ok." He made a drinking gesture. "Buy…you…a…drink?" He pointed at the nearest tavern with his thumb. Again, Fett shook his head. Han shrugged. "OK…well, how about letting me pick this stuff up for you, OK?" He gestured toward the gifts scattered on the ground.

Holding his humor in his throat, Fett nodded. He watched Solo lumber toward the pile of gifts and bend over to pick up the toy blaster he had bought for Kai.

Turning it over in his hand, Han grinned. "Aw, got a kid, huh?" Solo's grin grew wider. "Yeah, hope to have a little bugger of my own someday. Of course, gotta get the wife to stop saving the universe for five minutes so I can—woops." Turning to Chewbacca, he put his hand to his nose as he held back a laugh. "Not supposed to tell anyone, right Chewie? Her Worship would hold me in committee for months over that." Suddenly, he busted out in drunken giggles. Chewbacca merely rolled his eyes.

Fett raised his eyebrows slightly behind his goggles. He stood silent for a moment before replying, "Akai tu'duwai artiat 'chi tunat' oka?" Translated: "She actually married your sorry ass? Poor girl." 

Han squinted at the disguised bounty hunter. "What? Oh yeah, no Basic. Well then, the secret's safe, Chewie!" Still sniggering, he bent again to pick up the remainder of the gifts.

Fett stared at the back of Solo's head through his goggles, and his finger tightened just slightly around the trigger. It would be so easy at this moment, wouldn't it? Two shots on an empty street, and these drunken buffoons, these _enemies_ would be dead, with no one the wiser. He could just walk away, and the local authorities would assume it was just another robbery gone bad on the streets of the Smuggler's Moon …

No.

That was not his way. He had sworn an oath and, no matter what temptation may cross his path, he would uphold it. But moreover, oath or not, he had made a promise to I'Lai that he would never harm her friends. Despite what the rest of the galaxy might think of him, he was a man of honor and of his word. When that day would come for him and Solo to settle their score, it would be hand-to-hand, like men. Not like this.

He suddenly had the feeling that he himself was being watched, and he lifted his head meet Chewbacca's stare head on. The Wookiee's only movement was the flaring of his wide nostrils as he inhaled Fett's scent from four meters away. Recognition slowly crept over the Wookiee, and Chewbacca narrowed his eyes and lowered his arms to slowly grasp his crossbow slung on his shoulder. A low growl rose from his throat. 

Fett continued to stare Chewbacca down, never flinching once. Slowly, he raised the rifle to his chest, holding it across. Relaxing his stance just slightly, he tipped his head to the Wookiee in his slow, customary manner—just as he had that day in Jabba the Hutt's palace.

It was at this moment that Han Solo, completely oblivious to the silent exchange, had picked the duralloy packing box off the ground and placed it back into the bag. "All set, friend—here." He handed the bag to Fett, who took it without breaking his stare on the Wookiee. "You sure you won't have a drink with us?"

Fett merely shook his head.

"Well, OK then. Again, sorry about that whole thing. Come on, Chewie; Sarro's sabaac game is starting soon." Solo gestured to his first mate as he turned and stumbled slightly down the walkway.

With his crossbow still in paw, Chewbacca stepped toward Fett. Fett, in turn, took a step toward Chewbacca. They stood there for a few moments until Chewbacca finally broke the silence. He gurgled a series of grunts. *You understand Wookiee, don't you?*

"A little," Fett replied quietly.

Chewbacca paused, then asked, *Why didn't you try to kill him?*

Fett smirked under his disguise, but his blaster remained steady and his tone dangerous. "Consider it a wedding present."

Chewbacca's lip curled in a snarl, then turned to go. He stopped and, over his shoulder, added, *You saved your own life today, bounty hunter. Just remember that.*

"I'll keep it in mind, Matey."

"CHEWIE! COME ON! What's the hold-up?!" Han yelled from down the street. Chewbacca threw Boba Fett one last warning glance before slinging his crossbow back over his shoulder and lumbering back to join Solo as he made his way down the street. 

Fett watched them until they disappeared into a saloon well down the way. As soon as they were gone, he shot the winch-cord into the girder one more time and, with all of his packs in tow, hoisted himself to his shuttle's dock.


	5. Awakenings in the Dark

Episode 2

Chapter 4

Awakening in the Dark

As the large sensory plate swept over her head and face, I'Lai grimaced and blinked her eyes hard while cracking her knuckles. 

"Stop fidgeting," Dr. Him'bron chided in a mild sing-song. "Hold your hands at your sides, lie still and think happy thoughts."

"I never could stand this thing, you know," I'Lai grumbled as she complied.

"And you've never been what I would call an easy patient," the doctor responded with a smirk in his voice. "Something you and Master Fett seem to have in common, I think. Although your protests are, thankfully, far less volatile." I'Lai chuckled softly as she lay on the table, staring straight toward the ceiling. The medical scanner made a few more passes over her sheet-covered body while Dr. Him'bron continued to peruse the monitor for several lengthy, anxious minutes. The scanning plate finally stopped at I'Lai's feet as Him'bron chirped, "All done. You can sit up now."

I'Lai held the sheet to her breast as she rose. She took a deep breath before anxiously asking, "Well?"

Him'bron squinted at the monitor for a moment before glancing sideways at his patient. "If your health was any more perfect, then I'd be worried."

She sighed with both relief and frustration. "The brain scan shows nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing abnormal. Everything checks out. There seems to be no physical reason for these hallucinations, I'Lai."

"I don't understand this, Dr. Him'bron. The last time I had upsetting visions like this was when I was preg-" She stopped, throwing the doctor a wide-eyed, worried look. "I'm not, am I?"

Him'bron chuckled and patted her leg. "No, I'Lai, you're not pregnant again. The bio-mone treatment seems to working just fine."

"I shouldn't have gotten pregnant the first time." She swung her legs over the side of the table. "Imperial courtesans were all sterilized, even those in the Gift Trove."

"Well, did you undergo the surgical procedure while in the Discipline?"

"Procedure?" I'Lai asked. She furrowed her brow. "I've never had any surgery."

"Well then, you were never sterilized." He looked at I'Lai with an amused twinkle in his eye. "How else do you think they do it, I'Lai?"

"I thought…well…hmmm." Her brow remained wrinkled up as she contemplated this. "I guess I never thought about it before. I just assumed…" This was very strange, indeed. The Emperor had decreed that all Imperial women of pleasure be sterilized. Why had she remained fertile…? "Well, I suppose that's neither here nor there right now," she sighed. "What about these hallucinations?"

"Lady I'Lai," Dr. Him'bron said, again gently patting her knee, "I don't think I'm the one to speak to about this."

"You mean I should talk to Luke Skywalker."

"I think that would be best, yes. There is nothing physically wrong with you, so I would assume it may be something in the Force."

I'Lai absently rubbed her arm as she gazed toward the window, her lips tugged down in a small frown. "That's what I was afraid of…" she whispered.

Him'bron suddenly snapped his fingers. "Oh yes, speaking of Luke Skywalker…he messaged me and asked me to run a particular test on both you and Lord Kai, so I will need a blood sample, if you please."

"What sort of test, Doctor?"

"A…oh, what did he call it?" He reached into his coat and pulled out a datapad, quickly reading the script. "Oh yes, a 'midichlorian' count. Supposedly, Force-sentients have an abundance of these organisms in their blood, which is why they are Force-sentients to begin with. Master Skywalker wants to know how many you and Kai have, so he can adjust your training accordingly."

"Oh. Well, then by all means." She extended her arm, and the doctor pressed a small hypo-cartridge into her skin, drawing a few drops into the tiny vial.

"There we go. I'll gather a sample from little Lord Kai when it is convenient. We are all finished here, my dear. I'll leave you to dress."

"Thank you, Dr. Him'bron." She answered his fatherly wink with a sweet smile as he left the examination room. She quickly donned her sky blue dress and soft sandals and left as well.

_Well, I knew it would come to this,_ she thought as she traveled through the corridors to her apartments. _I knew I would have to tell Luke sooner or later. I just didn't want to worry him needlessly…or have him think I'm neglecting my training…or that I have somehow lost control…If these visions are indeed Dark Side, why can't I feel anything?_

_And Boba…I can't tell Boba…he is already so suspicious of the Force…if he thinks I can't control it…_

_He may leave me…_

With her head down and arms crossed and completely enveloped in her thoughts, I'Lai passed through the open door of her chambers… 

Only to find her chambers gone and replaced by the landscape of Hell itself.

She whipped around to flee back out into the corridor, but the door had disappeared as well, and I'Lai found herself standing in the middle of a jagged, desolate desert the color of night slumbering under the blanket of a blood red sky. Slowly she turned, seeking out any shred of civilization, and finding none. Serrated towers of rock a hundred meters high seemed to curl like black talons from the ebon palm of the horizon with a hot acidic wind searing the very land. The sky was illuminated by not one, but three red dwarf stars that hung low across the rough horizon. The only evident sign of life were huge things flying in the distance, catching the rancid updrafts under their massive wings and perching themselves upon the jutting crags. 

I'Lai's mind seeped with fog. She stood flesh within a dream, thick in a realm of vapor. She wanted, almost frantically, to feel something, be it fear, rage, confusion or some impact, be it light or dark, within the Force. But as she continued to slowly spin about, perusing every detail of every stone and crag and jagged rock that surrounded her, she found she felt…nothing. Nothing but the sensation that her limbs were heavy and her consciousness light…she gazed out upon the arid valley before her, dotted with black boulders nestled within mounds of black sand.

Then one boulder, off in the near distance, moved. 

I'Lai did nothing and felt nothing still. With her will as weightless as a scarf thrown to the wind, she merely stared as a hooded head slowly rose from the contour of the rock. Unhurriedly, fluently, turning and extending upwards like a pillar of smoke pulled by a draft, the boulder morphed from the sand until a man, swathed from head to toe in black silk, was born from the black desert floor.

He began walking toward her.

He came to her in steps heavy and long, but in a gait that made him seem to be merely an extension of the sands he kicked up with each driving stride. Indeed, he did not even walk like a man, but treaded with the same fierce bearing as a beast in rut. 

Devoid of the will or desire to stop herself, I'Lai began walking toward the cloaked figure. 

As they approached each other, she watched a hand the same colors of earth and sky slide out of the swaths of his cloak and reach to his throat. Unclasping his cloak, he shed it off his naked body and released it to the clutches of the acrid wind, revealing himself to her in one smooth, lupine motion.

It was _he._

An astounding feral animal shaped like a man, adorned in a sweat-slick pelt of red and black tattoos and crowned with horns. I'Lai gaped at him, her eyes consuming the details that began to emerge from his tattooed mask, the curve of his cheekbones and the jut of his jaw and nose. The sinews of his muscles seemed to thrash against the cage of his painted skin. And once again, she was entrapped in the snare of those eyes of gold and red, twin flames crackling under the weight of that smoldering brow. The stare in those eyes, the curl of his lip revealing the points of his fangs were that of a beast craving, hungering--- not for prey, but for gratification that could only be found in a worthy mate. He was

Hideous.

Magnificent.

Demon. 

God.

And from where she stood, she could feel the beat of his savage heart drum within her ears.

Dropping his head down slightly but still holding her in his glare, he changed his course. He stalked in a slow circle around her, his nostrils flaring wide, panting, pulling her scent into them. Every few steps he would stop and pivot, drawing closer ever so slightly, so subtly…his muscles pulsing and fluid under his skin…his shoulders heaving with every breath… a predator pacing…eyes burning… burning for her…

Her flesh rose into a thousand tiny points. Her breathing became quick, erratic, shallow. Her mind was reeling, spiraling. Her heart banged against her sternum. Her breasts heaved. Her loins clenched, and grew hot, tight…moist…

_no…no…_

Her hand lifted to the back of her neck, and pulled the tie of her dress loose…

_stop, stop…don't…_

her other hand slid around, doing the same to the tie at her back…

_…what are you doing…_

her gown slid down her body,

_…I'Lai, don't…_

over the crest of her breasts and the slight swell of her belly,

_…I can't stop…_

flittering down to pool at her feet.

_please… _

She stood naked.

_aah…_

for him.

He stopped pacing. Little by little, he stepped closer, closer… until he stood no more than a breath from her. The searing heat of his body shrouded her naked flesh, caressed it. And his eyes, those languid flames, boring into hers…suddenly widened, softened…

He dropped to his knees before her. His hands were hot, soft, almost tender as they touched her calves and slid up over her thighs, her buttocks until…they pressed against the small of her back, and he buried his face into the silk pillow of her belly. 

It was then she heard him sob. It was then she felt his scalding tears sear her flesh.

It was more maternal instinct than rational thought that caused I'Lai to gingerly stroke the nubs of his horns and cradle the back of his head. He responded by binding his arms around her. Confusion and concern filled her heart as the words formed in her mind and spoke to him, even before they could escape her lips…

_Why do you weep?_

The voice that answered through her consciousness was as sultry as a summer's dusk, as languid as a slumbering volcano, and weighted with utter sorrow.

_This waiting…it burns, I'Lai…I so thirst for you…I cannot bear it…_

She dropped to her knees as well, sliding down within his embrace, meeting his tear-braised eyes. A thousand questions all battled to be first asked, but only one made it to the forefront of her mind.

_How… do you know my name?_

His hands glided up her back to her neck, his fingers tangling in the jungle of her raven curls, his palms cradling her soft face as he pathed into her mind…

_I named you._

Panic seethed through her limbs as her eyes grew huge. But before the scream could escape her throat, he gripped her hair and jerked her face to his—

Search your heart! You know it to be true! 

She only had to look into his eyes to realize…

It was.

And before she could fully grasp the horror, he caught her lower lip within his teeth in a savage kiss. He pierced the delicate flesh. She tasted her own blood.

His arms bound her like scarlet serpents, snaring her against his hard body. Releasing her lip, he nuzzled his face over hers, inhaling her pure, untainted scent. Again brutally gripping her hair, he yanked her head back, dropping his mouth to her throat where he sank his teeth into the subtle pulse point there…

She did nothing to stop him. 

A gale blew through the crimson silk of her veins. Her hands kneaded into his painted flesh. She pierced her nails into his arms as he bit the round underside of her breast. Her back arched, her teeth clenched, and the scream that escaped her throat was unintelligible, guttural…inhuman.

His mouth and teeth made their journey down the fertile knoll of her belly… His tongue snaked the inner crease of her thigh…and when he viciously pushed her into the sand, he tangled his arms around her legs and, wrenching her pelvis to his lips, voraciously gorged upon her loins.

She shrieked, beating her fists into the sand,

_Yes, I'Lai…feel it… embrace it…_

thrashing violently, clutching her legs around his neck,

The power of it…

her entire being wrapped in a robe of angel's songs,__

_it is not what the Jedi said it was, is it?_

keening through her limbs, her belly, her heart…

_…it is not horror…_

An ebon rose bloomed from the crusted blood of innocents…

_it is rapture…_

his whispered voice filling her, penetrating her…

PARADISE… 

A storm had begun in the black desert. The winds whipped the sand in frenzy, enveloping them…

A far off voice calling her name through the cacophony of the storm…

The Zabrak released her from his mouth, leaping to his feet and spinning toward the voice, clenching his fists. She sprang forward, crouching on her hands and knees. Through his legs, she saw a figure running toward them, shadowed against the scarlet horizon. As it came forward, the details of the form racing toward them began to emerge…she could hear the subtle clanking of armor plating…she saw him struggle in the deep soot of the sand…and soon, she could see a helmet with a t-shaped visor…she saw him reach for her…she could hear his voice…

"I'Lai!" 

She stared blankly at the running armored man…his name silent on her lips…__

Suddenly, another figure emerged from the horizon. Following him, running even faster, catching up and surpassing him…he seemed younger than the first in his stride and quickness…and this new man was also clad in the armor of the Mandelore…but slung about his shoulders was…

The robe of the Jedi.

Another name swirled into her mind… _Kai…?_ She reached out and touched his essence…

It was not Kai.

She immediately felt the wrath of the tattooed Zabrak. He dragged her from the ground into his arms, clutching her naked body to his own. His head snapped around, his lips pulled back in a savage snarl, and his voice exploded from his chest to roar over the howling winds of the storm---

"MINE!"

And the sands beneath them rippled and separated, and they fell through the desert floor into a pit of starless night.

_It is time to go._

_Go where?_

_Your destiny._

I'Lai looked back up to the mouth of the pit, and saw the two Madelorian helms gawking helplessly at their falling bodies. The taller, younger Mandelore lunged over the side, and she heard him scream,

"MOTHER!"

She reached up…but it was too late. The two Mandelores grew smaller against the pallet of red sky as they plummeted down…

_We're falling_

_Yes._

_We'll die._

_Never._ He traced a blunt talon tenderly along her jaw line._ We'll never die. _

Falling, falling, wrapped around each other, twirling and spinning through veils of dark…until a shaft of red light broke through below them, illuminating their destination…Their descent slowed as a cradle of breath caught them. Still holding her firm against him, the ground rose up to meet them…

_Beloved, look. See. _

Dreamily, she turned her head from the crook of his arm. She saw they stood within an immense cavern. An enormous staircase carved from blackest obsidian greeted her eyes.

At the top of the stairs stood a man, silhouetted against the ruby sky. 

Waves of sable black hair that grew to his knees blew in perfect accord with his black silk cloak in the piercing wind. He stood towering and splendid; his arms outstretched, his chin raised to the sky as a choir of innumerable voices from beyond the cavern chanted his name, over and over—

DOMEIN

DOMEIN

DOMEIN

DOMEIN

Instantly aware of their presence, he lowered his head and turned toward them. He descended the stairs with undulating grace and, as he passed into the dim light where they stood, I'Lai saw that he wore magnificent cobalt armor…

Sith armor.

She looked into his face. A swarthy, striking youth no more than twenty, with a square chin, broad nose and eyes…the color of teal.

Her eyes.

Her gasp of recognition was as fragile as a tummilin's wing. "Kai…?" 

The beautiful young man smiled, baring teeth of purest white. As he reached to cup her face, she saw tears beginning to ripple in the deepest pools of his eyes. A soft sob broke from his lips as he whispered,

"Mother…Welcome home."

He looked to the Zabrak, and his smile broadened. He reached forth and tenderly cupped the Zabrak's neck. "Father…"

"Domein," the Zabrak replied, who in turn laid an adoring hand on his shoulder.

The young man turned again to I'Lai. Unclasping his cloak, he pulled it from his shoulders and laid it upon her shoulders, lovingly wrapping it around her nude form. He delicately plucked a stray tendril from her eye and brushed his palm through her hair as he looked to the staircase. "Go on. They're waiting for you." 

She turned toward the staircase, and began to walk. With every step she ascended, the tribal cadence of countless drums grew more fevered and extreme. She saw streaks of charcoal smoke ribbon throughout the scarlet heavens. She could smell the blazing tang of fire. She reached the top and stepped forward onto the stone precipice…

And froze at the spectacle she witnessed before her.

Hundreds of meters below her and for hundreds of miles, they glutted the colossal black valley, the cliffs, every peak, every crag completely to the boundary of the horizon. They writhed, they danced, they molested, assaulted, and slaughtered each other; they shrieked and screamed in a ravenous dark orgy of violence, desire, and destruction. There were millions of them. Millions of beings, human and alien, male and female of every known galactic race were displayed, a heaving ocean of anarchy. Massive bonfires dotted the rolling lake of bodies like islands of flame. Hundreds of drummers, naked and chained to their instruments by the throat, beat their hands so viciously at the lashings of their black armor-clad masters that the skins of the massive drums spattered with their blood. 

Then came the Star Destroyers, scores of them, descending through the red haze of the acidic atmosphere, hanging in the sky like harbingers of bereavement, chariots of annihilation.

Suddenly a hush rippled through the surging multitude. She saw all movement stop, all heads turn and look up at her, mouths agape open, eyes wide…

The chant started softly, no more than a sigh, but by every moment it grew shriller, thicker, ruthless … glorious…

Archae'el 

Archae'el

ARCHAe'EL

ARCHAE'EL!

ARCHAE'EL!

What appeared to be black moons, seemingly called forth by the deafening hymn, rose from the seam of the horizon. One, two, three…until there were ten, hovering in the crimson fabric of the sky. As she watched them all slowly rotate in unison to face her, I'Lai gradually understood that they were not moons at all…

They were Death Stars.

Their bays, like thin jaws, all opened at once, and spewed forth squadron after squadron of black metallic TIE fighters. A swarm of furious wasps, the thousands of ships streaked across the skies, forming battle formations, swooping and plunging down upon the frenzied throng and sending them into even more hysterical abandon.

The bellowing hordes began to climb over each other, fighting and clawing their way to the cliff where she stood

ARCHAE'EL!

clothing shredded

ARCHAE'EL! 

faces and bodies stained with blood

ARCHAE'EL!

screaming, hurling each other

ARCHAE'EL!

manic, climbing, frantic to adore their Goddess

ARCHAE'EL! 

It was then the black flame began to lick at the stem of her mind.

It was then she felt the surge of ecstasy-- of domination-- flood up her legs and into her sex, her womb, her belly, her mind…she panted through her clenched teeth, her lip snarling into a smile of vile enchantment, shoulders heaving, her eyes tapering into green slits as she glared at the throng screaming that name…HER NAME…

ARCHAE'EL! ARCHAE'EL! ARCHAE'EL! ARCHAE'EL! ARCHAE'EL! 

The massive drums beat again, faster, thunderous, ferocious, echoing against the hulls of the ships hanging in the sky, inciting the masses to more rage, more violence, more havoc…

She threw the cloak to the winds, baring her voluptuous body to these, her minions, her followers, her flock…her CHILDREN…

And through it all, she heard his voice keen through her…

_My gift to you, my beacon, my seraph, my beloved…_

She felt his rigid, nude phallus press into her back. Long painted fingers snaked around her throat as his other hand grasped her pliable breast, then slid down her belly…hot, ravenous lips nipped at her neck…

_Darth Archae'el…_

The luxurious-haired, beautiful young Sith Lord stepped to the edge of the precipice, his cape billowing in the wind. He raised the hilt of his weapon above his head and ignited its red twin blades. His voice rose, resonant and majestic above the din as he roared, "WE…ARE…"

The horde finished his statement in a shriek so thunderous it threatened to spilt the sky—

"LEGION!" 

LEGION! LEGION! LEGION! LEGION! LEGION! LEGION! LEGION! LEGION!

And I'Lai threw back her head and laughed in a manner she never had before—darkly, wildly, sadistically…a cackle of sheer cruelty, of uninhibited malevolence relentlessly rolled from her gullet as she began to comprehend her TRUE place in the universe—

Until she snapped her head down to the horde again. The sinister smile suddenly thawed from her face. Her laughter stopped.

As she looked into the frenzied crowd, she saw two figures standing oddly and serenely still amongst the writhing throng. Their helmets tilted up to her, and she found herself gazing into eyes hidden by dark visors. Entwining their armored arms together, they reached their free hands to her, and she heard a young man's anguished voice, not terribly different from the one who stood with her, softly drift into her ears…

"Mother, don't do this…don't give in… please…" 

Her gaze shifted to the older Mandelore, who somberly lowered his head. He said nothing. There was no need.

Her heart suddenly cleaved, and her from her eyes sprang forth a tempest of tears. She sobbed so heavily her body heaved.

_Oh…no._

The imposing long-haired youth in Sith armor exploded in rage, lunging over the edge and screaming, "MONGREL! Deserter! She doesn't belong to you! She's ours! OURS!"

_What have I done…?_

The tattooed Zabrak savagely spun her around to face him, his talons slicing the soft flesh of her arms, his eyes blazing as he hissed, "He doesn't love you, Archae'el! He is nothing! A filthy mercenary! You were not created for him! HE DOESN'T LOVE YOU!"

Suddenly, she grabbed the Zabrak's wrists. She was hoarse and shrill when she screamed, "My name is—" But her voice shriveled and her throat seized when she realized…

She didn't know her name anymore.

The howl she unleashed began somewhere in the depths of her bowels, surging up through her body until it ruptured from her throat—she tore away from the Sith, reeling, stumbling to the edge of the precipice…

"NO!" screamed the Zabrak. He sprang forward to catch her fall—

And missed—

* * *

Luke's frantic footsteps ricocheted sharp and clean off the glimmering marble walls of the Jedi temple as he raced through its splendid corridors. He had to get to a holocom. He had to warn I'Lai…

As he ran he furiously wiped the sweat from his eyes. He only wished he could somehow do the same to the horrifying vision which still gnashed within his mind's eye…

The nightmares no longer bound themselves to his times of slumber. They now assaulted him in wake too, while he was in the Temple meditation chamber. The vision had oozed into his mind, like black bile leached onto the wing of a dove.

The tattooed Zabrak had shown himself again, standing in his cavern's maw, laughing through the screeching wail of a woman's anguish.

_You've been asking about me, Vader-spawn. Is your curiosity peaked? Allow me to stoke it further…_

He had launched himself off the precipice, gliding through the dank air of the massive cave. He landed nimbly on his toes, squatting directly between the spread legs of a woman lying on a stone slab that jutted up from the void of a seemingly endless pit. The woman's head and torso were covered with a black drape, but her lower half was completely bared and vulnerable. The woman screamed again, and Luke could see her huge belly convulsing and contracting. He could hear the Zabrak's unvoiced words echo through his mind…

_Without pain, my treasure, there is no life. Bring it forth._

The woman's body violently arced, and her deafening screams rattled Luke's very soul as she bore down with all her strength one last time…and as her shrieks waned, those of a newborn life replaced them.

He watched the Zabrak catch the babe into his hands. He watched him lean forward and cut the umbilical with his own teeth.

Cradling the baby with the utmost tenderness, the Zabrak leapt off the slab and flew back to the precipice where Luke's avatar stood. He presented the bloody babe forward. Luke could see that she was girl child.

_Recognize her, Vader-spawn?_

His brow furrowed as he peered at the crying, dark-haired child. With a Force tendril, he reached lightly toward the baby's essence…

And felt as though his heart would stop.

"No…" he rasped, backing away, "it can't be—"

The Zabrak's malicious chortle started deep within him, and his eyes of fire sparked and danced as he pathed the words…

_Look upon her, Skywalker. Look upon the mother of a new order. Look upon your DESTRUCTION._

And with that, the Zabrak encircled the baby into his powerful arms, gazing at her with what could only be described as boundless love. And for the first time, he spoke in his physical voice, in a tone that lay somewhere between chaos and rapture…

"I'Lai…"

It was then the vision exploded into an inferno of black flame, hurling Luke onto his back. When he opened his eyes, he was lying in the center of the serene meditation chamber…

And now he was running, gasping, leaping over the renovators' paints and supplies as they briefly stopped their work to wonder at him.

"DOORS!" he yelled as he came upon his apartments. They slid open at his command, and he leapt across the room to land behind his desk and hit the com.

"Be there, I'Lai…please be there…"

His anxious spirit plummeted even further when the holographic image that appeared on his desktop was not I'Lai, but that of Nikoa.

The elderly woman's wrinkled face creased even further as she smiled kindly. "General Skywalker! How wonderful to see you again!"

"Mistress Nikoa," Luke panted into the holophone, "please forgive my rudeness, but I must speak to the Lady I'Lai immediately! Is she there?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, but her Ladyship is in a very important meeting at the moment. But I would be more than happy to have her get back to you—"

"Mistress Nikoa, please! I must speak with her! Now!"

"I'm afraid she can't be disturbed, General. This meeting has been planned for quite some time and she simply cannot be called away," Nikoa replied with the firm tact of a velvet hammer.

Luke, exasperated, ran his cybernetic hand through his hair. "All right, all right. But please, please Mistress Nikoa, tell her to contact me immediately when she is finished! It's extremely urgent."

"I certainly will, General." 

"Mistress Nikoa, I know this is going to sound strange, but…is her Ladyship alright? You seem to be very close to her…do you know if she has been having nightmares? Visions?"

Nikoa frowned slightly as she thought this over. She shook her head. "No, sir. Her Ladyship has been quite content and has been sleeping well."

"Oh," Luke sighed, "well, that's good to know."

Her expression became concerned. "You seem terribly upset, General Skywalker. Is there anything I can do?"

He shook his head. "No, lady, thank you. I…don't think you would understand…"

Nikoa's image smiled softly as she sighed, "No, I probably wouldn't."

"Thank you, Mistress Nikoa. And please, again, have I'Lai contact me as soon as she can. Out."

"Out," Nikoa chimed, hitting the com button. 

She sat quietly for a moment at I'Lai's desk, her hands folded in her lap. She sighed a deep, contented breath. Calmly, serenely, she turned her head to the center of the chamber.

There stood I'Lai, as she had the entire time, frozen and wide-eyed in her terrible trance. Nikoa watched her shudder slightly and her eyes roll back into her head. She watched her crumple to the floor, her body quaking in convulsions.

Nikoa rushed to the fallen woman, laying her palm against her forehead and hushing, "Ssshh…"

I'Lai stopped seizing. Eyes clamped shut, her face suddenly twisted into grimace of sheer agony, and her wails of anguish pealed off the cathedral ceilings of her apartments.

With a strength completely unnatural for a woman her age, Nikoa slipped her arms under I'Lai's prone form and lifted her from the floor. Cradling her tenderly in her arms and resting her head against her shoulder, Nikoa carried the weeping I'Lai to her large bed, gently setting her down.

I'Lai thrashed her head against the pillow as she whimpered, "Boba…Boba…come back…I need you…Kai…gods, Kai…" Suddenly, she became still, her face melting into soft serenity as a new name formed on her lips…and Nikoa felt her heart would burst from sheer joy…

"MAUL…"

Gingerly, soothingly, Nikoa swept a lock of her thick curls from her throat, revealing the reddish lesion of teeth marks embedded there. Softly brushing her fingertips across the bite, Nikoa quietly chanted, "_"Si'at siikaa eusss'na Sith, sei ti'maa eusss'na criiah taee…" _ The marks pulsed, bubbled, folded, and eventually faded away, leaving her skin creamy and supple once again.

I'Lai's eyes suddenly fluttered, then lifted open. Drowsily, she gazed up at Nikoa. She smiled softly. "Nikoa, hello."

Nikoa smiled warmly, stroking I'Lai's forehead. "Hello, your Ladyship. Did you have a nice nap?"

"Mmmm," she moaned, sitting up slowly and stretching her arms over her head. "Quite refreshing, thank you." She blinked a few times as she attempted to focus. "Nikoa…I just had the strangest dream…"

"Really, I'Lai? What was it about?"

I'Lai paused, lightly knitting her brow, and let out a soft giggle. "Funny…I can't remember…"

"Well, that happens." Nikoa took I'Lai's hand in her own, still beaming warmly. "Now that you've had a good rest, how do you feel?"

"I feel…wonderful, Nikoa. Absolutely wonderful."

Just then, the quiet cooing of a sleepy infant could be heard over the baby monitor. Nikoa laughed, "Seems someone else have just woken up too."

"Mmmmm. Well then, his Lordship calls. I'm sure he's hungry." I'Lai swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She elongated into one more refreshing stretch before casually strolling to the door, all the while humming a soft little tune to herself. 

Nikoa waited until the doors had closed behind her before she allowed the tears of joy to gush from her eyes. 

Destiny was at hand.

The Turning

Had Begun.


	6. Misguided Angel

Howdy, folks.

I know, I know, long time, too long! I have no excuse except that I have just been extremely busy and somewhat uninspired. And again, I decided to cut this chapter into two separate halves, just because I REALLY wanted to get this posted already. Enjoy.

Ivy

Episode 2

Chapter 5

Misguided Angel

"Misguided angel hanging over me,

Heart like a Gabriel, pure and white as ivory,

Soul like a Lucifer, black and cold as a piece of lead,

Misguided angel, love you till I'm dead."

Cowboy Junkies

It was one of those bright, clear, and invigorating days on Coruscant. Now was the time of the Coruscant autumn, a time where sophisticated tourists from all over the galaxy would descend upon the city-planet's posh upper levels and take in all the music, art, theatre, and culture the galactic capitol had to offer. Every hotel and inn of notable regard was completely booked. Restaurant reservations were filled for weeks. Dance clubs and cabarets never shut their doors or proclaimed 'last call'. There was a saying amongst the social elite of the galaxy—"There is nothing quite like autumn on Coruscant." 

As Han Solo lay on the huge bed, he found himself thinking of that saying, and had to agree. This was his first time experiencing the high tourist season on Coruscant. He watched the denser-than-usual air traffic zip by the chamber's open window. He could hear the late afternoon commotion rise from the sky streets and platforms, listening to tens of thousands of human and alien fops and fashionistas shop, lunch at cafes, mingle, and flirt with the small armies of paparazzi roaming about. The breeze that blew through the light gossamer curtains and over his bare body had a sharp, crisp tang, unusually devoid of fumes or pollution. The air was a welcome change to the stifling, putrid haze that passed for a breathable atmosphere on Nar Shaddaa. Cool and refreshing...it felt good.

Hell, _he_ just felt damn good, period. No, more than good—he felt… happy. Peaceful. Alive. And probably for the first time ever in his whole life, he felt, truly and deeply, _loved._

He carefully slid his free arm behind the pillow to prop up his head and allow him a better gaze at the nude form of his sleeping wife. Leia lay curled around him, her slender leg wrapped around his, her arm draped across his middle, and her head on his chest as she dozed. The low light of the late afternoon sun brought out the reddish highlights in her lush long hair as it rippled free across her body and his in waves of bronzed mahogany. He listened to her soft breathing and watched the subtle rise and fall of her back. With his eyes he followed the delicate arch of her brow, down the curve of her cheek to the corner of her lips, which seemed curled in a subtle smile of slumbering bliss. Again, the flawless ivory of her skin, the richness of her hair, and the overall soft perfection of her slight yet marvelously curvaceous body struck him in awe. 

_Damn, Solo_, he thought to himself as he lightly combed his fingers through Leia's hair, _what the hell did you do to deserve this?_ He chuckled silently as the answer to his own question slowly crept into his mind…

_You grew up._

His thoughts drifted back to his few weeks on the Smuggler's Moon. The fall of Coruscant and the establishment of the New Republic had had absolutely no effect on the Nar Shaddaa he remembered: It was still the dirty, grimy, smelly, and treacherous den of filth it had always been—which, Han had thought up until very recently, was all part of its charm. But rest and recreation was not Han's prime reason for venturing to the Smuggler's Moon. Frankly, he had taken an enormous risk even setting orbit in the Nal Hutta perimeter—much less setting foot on the Moon itself—but it was a risk that had to be taken, whether he liked it or not. He had to make sure the bounty on his head was null and void. He had to close that chapter of his former life. He had to deal with Talon Karrde.

Karrde, a fellow Corellian and smuggler kingpin extraordinaire in his own right, had swiftly (if somewhat begrudgingly) absorbed many of Jabba the Hutt's underworld dealings into his own operation almost before the Hutt's repulsive corpse had grown cold. Even though Jabba's contract on Solo had been based more on personal vendetta rather than official business, it could easily have been transferred into Karrde's hands. Han now considered himself fully retired from smuggling and the underworld in general—he was now a military commander, public figure, and a married man. He simply couldn't take the risk of the past coming back to haunt him—or more accurately, the past coming and blasting him to bits or hauling him to some hole in the ground of some back-ass planet where Leia, Luke, nor Chewbacca could never find him…

The meeting with Talon Karrde had not only been swift and relatively painless, but also proved to be somewhat beneficial to both parties. Not only had Karrde relinquished the price on Han's head ("I don't deal with subcontractors—if I want someone, I have more than enough good people who can find him. And I have no reason to want you," was Karrde's reply), but he and Han actually worked out a "deal" of sorts. The transaction was quite simple—Karrde agreed to supply the fledgling New Republic information on various Imperial proceedings that he would come across time and again in exchange for the New Republic politely "turning its head" in regard to various actions of his own operation. 

Although he knew he would catch hell from Her Excellency for such a bargain, Han had accepted the offer. The Republic still needed all the help it could get, and it didn't really matter at this point in time where it came from. Even if he no longer worked in the underworld, it was good to still have friends there.

Han frowned a tad, still stroking Leia's hair, as he recalled a significant portion of his and Karrde's conversation:

"As a token of our newly founded partnership, I'll throw you a freebie, Solo: Watch out for Black Sun."

"Black Sun? I thought they collapsed after Xizor bought the farm."

"You wish. They've regrouped and they're growing again. And guess whose Supreme Vigo."

"Who?"

"Czethros."

"Czethros! That one-eyed maniac? How the hell did he pull off that coup?"

"Apparently with a lot of cash and a lot of assassins. He's been hiding behind a few legitimate fronts, including Xizor Transport and some newly acquired casinos on Ord Mantell. But he's still running the major drug, weapon, and pleasure slave rings throughout the galaxy. Hell, he's practically cornered the spice and ryll market alone."

"Doesn't sound any different than when the Xizor ran the show. So why should I be concerned?"

"Because he's got all of Xizor's greed and none of his class. He'd sell his own mother into the skin trade if the price were right. More than that, he's a loose cannon. I get the feeling he's not going to be happy sitting in Xizor's shadow for long. He wants power. And he'll deal with anyone to get it."

"You mean the Empire?"

"Who else? I just thought I'd warn you. Keep your eyes open."

"Thanks, Talon."

"Jabba didn't do right by you, Solo. Too bad you've gone legit—I could use someone like you. You're a good man. Oh, and congratulations on your wedding. Nice catch."

"How'd you know? We haven't told anyone."

"You think I only keep my eye on the Imps?"

So there it was. The concern regarding Black Sun was nothing compared to the relief he felt. Han could breathe a little easier now. He was free. 

Yeah sure, he and Chewie had goofed off for a time on Nar Shaddaa. They'd "tied a few ones on", checked out the latest swag on the black market, scored a few bottles of illicit liqueurs, bought a few spare parts and tinkered with the Falcon's systems; typical guy stuff for him and Chewie. And, well, then there was Sarro's sabaac game! He still couldn't believe his luck: It sure as hell wasn't his skill, because he so drunk at the time he could barely see his hand. He was absolutely busting to tell Leia about the booty he had won, but he wanted to tell her at home and in person…

Hell, he had just wanted to come home to Leia, period.

The drinking, the carousing, the gambling…it just wasn't what it used to be. Although it seemed to all his old smuggling cronies that he was the same cocky, irresponsible pirate he had always been, the truth was that for every moment of every day on the Smuggler's Moon, Han Solo missed his wife. He missed her most of all at night, when that day's carousing had come to an end and he would crawl into his hard—and empty—bunk aboard the Falcon. And when he finally did manage to fall asleep after staring up at the bulkhead for hours, he would often startle himself awake when reaching for Leia and finding nothing but a cold sheet next to him…

But it was that odd confrontation with the masked stranger on Libation Row that made Han realize that he was, indeed, a changed man. He surmised that the stranger was obviously some kind of mercenary simply by the finesse of his combat skills—Han, despite his intoxication, had been much impressed by the stranger's speed and his ability to take Chewbacca's body block like that. But his thoughts had kept creeping back to the toy blaster he had picked up for the stranger: He had been buying gifts for his family! On the Smuggler's Moon, of all places! And the more Han thought about that stranger, the more he felt…well, envious. 

Han had never before thought himself as "father" material, but he now found himself changing his mind about that: If a masked blaster-slinger could manage to care for a family, why not him? No longer was he the wandering drifter with no roots or ties. He was no longer the ever-struggling smuggler waiting for that big haul that would set him free from "the life". Not only did he now have a home—and a rather nice one at that—but he actually had someone waiting for him there. Some one he loved, someone he respected, and someone with whom he found he really, truly, wanted to have a family. And, of course, the fact that she was President of the New Republic didn't hurt either…

He let another night of restless sleep pass when he finally called for Chewbacca to meet him in the Falcon's cockpit. "Chewie, let's pack up and get off this rock. I want to go home."

To which Chewbacca had replied with an exasperated grunt, *I was wondering when the hell you would wise up.* 

He promptly messaged Leia, telling her that they were coming back a few days early, and had been thrilled when Leia said that she would delegate her grueling responsibilities to Winter and other assistants so she could spend the whole day with him upon his arrival. 

But the homecoming had not exactly started as a scene from a holo-romance. The minute he had walked through their door, Leia's behavior was more like that of a visiting luminary than of a newlywed bride: Hell, she'd barely kissed him hello. She seemed cool, distant, and held their conversation to polite, almost diplomatic chitchat, nothing more. But more than that, she looked tired, distraught. Han immediately wondered he'd done to tick her off while he had been gone…

But as they sat over his homecoming lunch, her detachment had disintegrated into outright anxiety, an emotion that did not flatter Leia Organa well at all. He had watched her drop several utensils on the floor and twist her gold bond-ring so neurotically that her finger had begun to glow an unhealthy bluish hue. By the time dessert had been served, the long, uncomfortable silence that he had been enduring (save for the clanking of the service droids, which wasn't helping his mood any) finally forced him to the breaking point. His voice was harsher than he would have liked when he snapped, "Kesh, Leia! For the love of Kashyyk, will you PLEASE tell me what the hell is wrong?"

It was then she burst into tears. It was only the second time in the entire time he had known her that she had cried in his presence, the first being that night before the Battle of Endor And like that night on Endor, he found himself becoming even angrier because… he had no clue as to what to do.

Desperately trying to compose herself, she suddenly blurted, "All right, I'll tell you…and I won't blame you for being angry…"

His first initial reaction was a knot in his gut and his thoughts jumping into hyperspeed. _She wants a divorce. That's it, she wants a divorce. She's thought it over and realized the marriage was a BIG mistake, right? She realized that I'm not good enough, that I'm too lowbrow, too common…I knew it! I knew I shouldn't have left…but she said no, go, blow off some steam with Chewie, have some fun! Yeah, right! Women! Especially THIS woman! Luke was right all those years ago on the Falcon. Do you think a princess and a guy like me…? HELL NO! What was I thinking? UGH…_

He had thrown his napkin into his plate, leaned back in his chair, and threw his arms up. "OK, let's have it!" Silence. More tears streaked down her face. "Well?" He braced himself for the words…

_I want a divorce. _

"I'm pregnant."

The hush in the room could have been cut with a vibroblade before Han dumbly mumbled, "What?"

Leia then began to sob. "Han…I'm so sorry…I don't understand how this happened…well, I mean, I DO understand, but…oh…"

What happened after that was still a blur: Well, no---what happened after he sat like an _idiot_ with his mouth hanging open (for Kesh knew how long) was still a blur. But he was pretty sure it entailed him leaping from his seat and jumping over the table, lifting a flabbergasted Leia out of her seat and into his arms, laughing _and_ crying as he danced her all around their apartments and, finally, carrying her to their bedchamber where he passionately, tenderly, and _relentlessly_ made love to her for hours.

He was Corellian, after all…

A soft moan against his chest broke Han from his reverie, and he glanced down to see Leia beginning to stir from her rest. As she breathed a deep sigh and lazily lifted her head, he met her sleepy gaze with a soft smile. "Well, hello there…Mommy."

"Mmmmm," she moaned again, smiling softly and attempting to focus her sleepy eyes. Suddenly, her eyes snapped wide open as she saw the low light of early dusk filling the room. "Gods, Han, you let me fall asleep?"

"You were exhausted, honey. I figured you needed it."

"What time is it?"

"Sweetheart, it's your day off. Does it really matter what time it is?"

She took a breath as if to retort, but the flash of irritation quickly passed from her eyes as her warm smile only broadened. "No, I suppose not." She inched herself up to kiss Han tenderly as she ran her palm up and down his torso.

"So," Han murmured as she broke the kiss and nuzzled into his arm, "What do you think of the name Jacen?"

Leia lightly drew little patterns on Han's chest with her fingertips. "Jacen?"

"If it's a boy. Or…Jaina, if it's a girl? Good Corellian names. Jacen Solo. Jaina Solo. Those work, don't you think?" He waited for her answer, but was only met with silence. "You don't like them."

"No, no, I do like them, really," Leia said as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. "It's just…" Her voice trailed off as she lowered her eyes again.

Han furrowed his brow. "It's just what?"

"It's just…that we may be using both of them."

He blinked a few times. "Come again?"

"Han…I'm carrying twins."

"WHAT?" he yelped as he sprang up.

Still lying back on the pillow, Leia looked at him with quiet anxiety and bit her lower lip. "Are you upset?"

"Upset?" He ran his hand through his hair as he found himself having to think about that for a second… "Well…NO, honey, of course I'm not upset! But…" He couldn't help but laugh, "Leia, why didn't you tell me before?"

"Han," she sighed, rolling over on her side and propping her head into her hand and glancing down at her nude self, "you didn't exactly give me the chance."

Han started to laugh, but suddenly extreme worry washed over his brow. He placed his hand on her belly. "Gods, Leia…we…I didn't hurt them, did I?" 

"No," she murmured with a smile. She rubbed his hand on her belly. "I protected them with the Force."

"It does come in handy, doesn't it?"

"It can, yes," she answered softly.

Relieved, he leaned down to lay on his side and gently cup her cheek. He laughed softly as he murmured, "Twins, huh? As always, you are the model of efficiency, your Holiness. Why have one kid when you can have an instant family? Saves a lot of time that way." 

"Solo!" Leia barked, reaching under her head and playfully pelting him with the pillow. He reacted by grabbing her and rolling her on top of him, holding her squirming body firmly in his arms. 

As their giggling subsided, Han's tone became hushed and gentle. "I can't believe you thought I'd be angry about this."

"It's just so soon, Han—"

"I've got a netflash for you, Your Excellency. Normal people, when they fall in love, get married and start having babies. Or did you miss that in the last Council briefing?"

"We're not exactly 'normal' people, Solo."

"Well, YOU maybe," Han smirked.

She returned his smirk with a sidelong glance, cocking her eyebrow. "Han Solo, there are moments when you utterly surprise me. I never pegged you as a family man."

Something suddenly changed in Han. His face became soft, yet profoundly serious when he murmured, "You never pegged me for a lot of things. Remember?" 

Her smirk dissipated as she met his gaze. She grew somber as she whispered, "They'll be Force-sensitives, Han."

"Well, as long as they don't read my thoughts or move the furniture around with their minds while I'm in the fresher, I think I can handle that."

"That's not what I meant, nerfherder. I meant they'll be special." She looked with unflinching gravity into his eyes. "They'll be targets." 

"Hey…" he whispered, gently running his hand down her back to cup the curve of her bottom, "let's worry about that when it's time to worry about that, OK?"

She closed her eyes and sighed from the pleasure of his touch. "OK."

"So…NOW can we tell everyone we got married? I think we should, don't you?"

"I suppose. Although," she laughed, "I don't see how anyone would be able to tell I'm pregnant. I could hide a Bantha in those presidential robes." 

Chuckling, he rolled himself over her and took her lips in a tender kiss. "Well, now that you told me your news, I think it's my turn to tell you mine."

Leia arched her brows and smirked a half-smile. "Is it as good as mine?"

"I'd say it comes in a close second." Han smiled that lopsided grin he was so famous for, the one that could simultaneously irk Leia to no end and make her melt at the same time. "We have quite the little partnership here, your Worship. You are providing the family, and I am providing the family getaway."

"What do you mean?"

"Lady Luck seems to be cutting me a break lately. You are looking at the proud new owner of a planet called Dathomir."

* * *

Watto snapped the blast dissipation vest closed around Fett's torso. "All right, ju can put jour arms down now. How does dat feel?"

Fett took a few steps around the shop. He stopped, rotating his torso side to side, then back and forth. He turned to Watto. "It feels too light."

"It's supposed to feel light. Ju want to be able to move in it, don't ju?"

Fett tapped his gloved knuckles against the right pec plate. "Moving is one thing—deflecting a blaster shot is another. This doesn't feel strong enough."

"Believe me, it strong enough, all right." Watto flapped over to the bounty hunter, holding the gorget and shoulder guards. "I used TYI-Flex plasteel."

"Never heard of it."

"Dat's da beautiful ting—no one has!" Watto exclaimed with exuberant pride. "It a long-lost smelting process, over four tousand jears old! Ju take regular plasarmor and impregnate da matrix wit a zordium undermesh and boom! Light, flexible plating dat could deflect an ion cannon! Ju combine dat wit da armorweave undersuit, and ju could take on an AT-AT by jourself!" With that, Watto flew up behind Fett and fastened the gorget and shoulder guards to his vest plate.

Fett had to admit to himself that he was, indeed, impressed by this Toydarian's skill and resourcefulness. But the real test was yet to come. "Bracers." Watto immediately complied, flapping over to the worktable where the newly-crafted armor bracers lay and bringing them to Fett. Fett snapped them onto his forearms, careful not to launch any of the weapon systems. "Helmet." Again, Watto flapped away and returned, this time bearing the Mandelorian-design helm. He floated before Fett, holding the helm and maniacally grinning. Fett reached up to remove the swath from his head and face, but then stopped. He glared at Watto through his opaque goggles. "Do you mind?" he asked flatly.

Watto's grin melted slightly. "Eh?"

"Turn around."

"Oh! Oh, jes, of course." Handing the helm over to Fett, Watto turned in mid-air and faced the junk-covered wall.

Fett pulled off his swath and goggles and eased the helm over his head. "All right. It's on."

Watto turned back, and froze as he stared at the bounty hunter before him. His face paled into a sickly white, and he swallowed hard. Even though he was only wearing pieces of the new armor, there was no denying that this man was, indeed, the legendary bounty hunter known as Boba Fett. The armor seemed to instantly become a part of him…or he a part of it? Watto wasn't sure which. "Ju…um…look good," he offered in a hoarse rasp.

"Mm hmm," Fett grunted as he adjusted the bracers.

"Uh…ju like the color? Cuz if ju don't like gray, I can change it--"

"I don't care about aesthetics, Watto. Only performance." He raised the t-shaped visor to meet Watto's anxious eyes. "When can I expect the jetpack casing to be finished?"

"Tomorrow at da latest, sir."

"And the dart launchers?"

"I working on dem today, sir. I just need to install de darts into de knee guards."

Fett stood still and silent, staring at the Toydarian for many long, agonizing moments. Watto was about a millisecond from relieving himself right there when Fett murmured hoarsely, "You're ahead of schedule, Watto. I'm impressed."

"OH!" Watto cried, taking in heavy pants of relief, "Oh, TANK YOU, Master Fett! I can't tell ju enough what an HONOR it has been to—"

"Mm hmm," Fett grunted again as he turned his back and headed for the exit. "I'm going to test these systems. You keep working on the launchers."

"Jes, sir! But, uh, Master Fett…one humble request?"

Fett stopped and turned his visor. "What?"

"If ju would…uh…be so kind—which ju ARE, don't get me wrong, but…um…try not to destroy too much of my property out there?" Watto quietly pleaded as he shrunk into a weak-smiled wince. Fett said nothing---but if Watto could have seen his face through the helm, he would have noted the subdued smirk of mild amusement play across the bounty hunter's lips before he strode out the door.

As the door swooshed closed, Watto exhaled a sigh mixed of relief and exasperation as he flapped over to the workbench and took a seat on it. "Ahead of schedule…good," he rapsed under his breath. "Gotta finish dis soon, cuz I don' know how much more I can take of dis…" He wiped his brow with his stringy arm as he proceeded to work on the knee-guard rocket launchers.

Fett made his way through Watto's makeshift junkyard, stopping just beyond the junk-laden perimeter. He lifted his head upward toward the industrial nightmare of the Smuggler's Moon hovering in the asteroid's dim sky. "Activate." The hum of the helmet's systems was barely audible, but it was enough to assure Fett that they had been activated. "Binocs—fifty percent." The view of Nar Shaddaa instantly zoomed larger within the visor's viewscreen. "Two hundred percent." Again, the view loomed larger, allowing Fett to make details of the Moon's jutting structures and the star ships that descended and took off from them. "One thousand percent." The view jumped forward once more, and Fett could now see beings, both living and droid, traveling about the Moon's mesh walkways. "Infrared." The organic beings in Fett's view instantly glowed red within the screen, while droids, vehicles, and buildings cooled to a dark cobalt view.

So far, so good.

He proceeded to engage the various other helmet systems—the holorecorder, the pineal vision system, the audio-sensory, and the remote voice-activated control to the _Slave I's_ main computer. All functioned with perfect precision.

Now the gauntlets.

He glanced about the yard, seeking a target. He found one in the form of a defunct and crumbling E3-Series droid propped up against a rusting hulk of ship scrap. "Range finder." Automatically, the small arm of the helmet's targeting system lowered into place over the t-shaped viewscreen. The electronic data blipped and danced across his eyes before obtaining a perfect lock on the humanoid-shaped droid and flashed a red target signal.

Fett sprang into action. Crouching into a combat stance, he flexed his left arm forward and snapped his fist up. The whipcord snare shot out from the bracer and spun itself around the droid's neck. He pulled the cord back with such a violent jerk, the droid's head snapped clean off its metal torso. He raised a brow in satisfaction.

Targeting again, he turned the same arm over and snapped his wrist down. In rapid succession, three darts blasted out of the gauntlet and hit the droid's chest plate in a triangular formation.

Next, the flamethrower. 

He raised his right arm, flexed his fist down, and dug his feet into the asteroid's soft silt to brace himself for the six-meter flame—

Nothing.

He stood up straight and tapped the bracer a few times with his palm. Again, he aimed and flexed…only to see a pitiful little yellow flame sputter forward and immediately die out. "Damn," he muttered. He looked the bracer over. Either it was the fuel feed or the ignition, or both. Or was it the neuro-trigger? In any case, it had to be repaired.

He started back toward the door of Watto's shop…

Watto had just finished connecting the detonator cables to the ends of the small rocket darts and was about to join them to the armor system. With a dart in one hand, he reached for the right knee-guard with the other, and was about to slide the dart into the casing…

Only to find it didn't fit.

He froze, and then tried to swallow the enormous lump forming in his throat. The dart was too big! But it couldn't be…Fett fabricated the darts himself, so that meant…he had made the casing too small. "CRAP!" Watto shrieked out loud, and then instantly winced and turned a nervous eye toward the door. He waited for several moments before he surmised that Fett, fortunately, had not heard him. "How can dis be?" he fretted in a panicked whisper. "I KNOW measured dese right, I KNOW I did! Crap, crap, CRAP!" He had to fix this problem, and fast!

Frantically, Watto flew to the holorecorder at the other end of his shop. He began rifling through the pile of schematics holodiscs sitting next to the machine. "Ugh, none of dese are marked! How does he know which is which?" He picked up one disc and jammed it into the recorder. The projection beamed shot forward, showing the dimensions for the armor's dissipation vest. "NO! Not dat one!" He took it out and put in another—this one played out the helmet's macrobinocular system. "UGH! Come on! Knee guard rocket launchers! Where is it???" He pulled it out and jammed in another—

"But in spite of his terrible wounds, the prince kept fighting the giant Rancor, bravely, valiantly, his saber slicing through the air, and through the monster's thick, wretched flesh…"

Watto's head snapped up with a start as he heard a woman's low, melodic voice behind him. Confused, he slowly turned around to see the glimmering hologram playing across the shop's center table. The hologram showed a woman sitting in a large, sumptuous chair. A human woman, she wore her black curling hair up, pinned loosely at the nape of her neck. Her robe was simply fashioned, yet made of very expensive fabric. Squinting slightly, Watto slowly flapped over to face the three-dimensional image—it was then he realized that she was cradling an infant in one arm, while holding a databook in the other from which she read the bedtime story.

"The beast howled ferociously from the gash, and smoke poured forth from his terrible nostrils," the woman read with quiet feeling—the baby squealed, and a softly radiant smile spread across her rose-colored lips. Yes, this was a very pretty woman, as far as humans go. But what struck Watto most of all were her eyes—large, clear, blue-green eyes that reminded him how the white sunlight would sparkle off the lush southern marshes of his beloved Toydaria, where he would play as a little hatchling…

"A rather harsh story for one so young, don't you think?" a man's voice, laced with mild humor, softly interjected from beyond the hologram's focal point. Watto gasped. That was FETT'S voice!

The pretty woman glanced up from her babe, those amazing eyes bright with mischief. "Oh-ho, this coming from the man who would teach him to fly your ship before he could walk? Besides, this was my favorite story when I was a child; and I turned out all right." She chuckled softly, then waved the datapad in front of her face. "Boba, please stop recording me. I look dreadful right now."

"Keep reading," was the man's quiet response. The woman hesitated, still smiling shyly, and then continued to read the story aloud. 

Watto lost himself in the hologram, a small smile tugging at his tusk. He recalled how he would sometimes hear his slave Shmi Skywalker read to little Anakin in their slave quarters at night and how, in spite of his bad-tempered and crotchety self, would hover about their door and listen to the tales Shmi softly read in the same quiet, gentle manner this lady did to her baby…

"Enjoying the show, Watto?"

A gulp of air stuck in Watto's throat as he spun around to see Fett standing in the shop door. The Toydarian's eyes grew huge, and his tiny arms shook with surprise and terror. "M-M-Master Fett…I din't hear ju come in—" Fett stormed across the shop and slammed his fist into the recorder's control panel—the beautiful human lady and the baby instantly blinked away into thin air. Slowly, the t-shaped visor turned to the terrified Toydarian, who was frantically trying to explain himself. "Master, I—was looking for de—specs for de dart launchers, and….I found—I din't mean to—AGH!" Before he could finish Fett lunged forward, grabbed Watto by his thin, leathery neck and hurled him across the shop into the junk-laden wall. 

The clanging of metal parts and tools ricocheted off every surface of the shop, mingling with Watto's own panicked screams as he fell to the floor. Stunned and scared, the alien tried desperately to regain his balance, only to have the enraged Fett pull him up by his right wing to face his mask directly.

"How did you get that disc, Watto?" Fett hissed with composed fury into Watto's face.

"Fett, please," Watto begged as he dangled in Fett's grip, his rough voice even more hoarse with terrified sobbing.

Fett never raised his voice, but his hand tightened even more around the wing, and Watto could feel it going numb. "How did you get that disc? Were you in my ship? How did you get past the defense system?"

"Master, I din't go in jour ship! Dere's no way I could! Please, don't—" Fett violently yanked Watto up. Watto screamed in pain, then screamed again when he saw Fett raise his right bracer and, with a sharp flick of his wrist, a twenty-centimeter serrated blade sprung forth from the housing. "Fett, no, please, please, don't—"

"I swear, Watto," Fett growled, the blade drawing ever closer, "I will fucking hack your wings off if you don't tell me where you got that disc! Tell me!" He pushed Watto up against the wall, lodging his bladed forearm against Watto's throat. "TELL ME!"

"IT WAS IN DA PILE WIT DE SPECS!" Watto screamed hysterically. "I was just looking for de dart speculations, I swear! I din't see much—only a few seconds…" The small winged alien was now openly bawling. "Please, please, don't kill me, Fett! Please don't kill me…I swear, it was in da pile…I din't see nuthin…please…have mercy on me…Fett…mercy…" Watto hung his head over Fett's arm and his body went limp as he wept uncontrollably.

Fett held Watto there against the wall for a few more seconds as he tried to control the adrenaline raging through him. He turned his helmet toward the broken holorecorder. Slowly, he released his hold on the Toydarian's wing, and moved his arm away from Watto's throat. Watto slid down the wall, touching his throat briefly before looking at his hand, which was stained with a few drops of blood. Still crying, he looked up to see Fett pace to the holorecorder and eject the disc. 

Fett turned it over in his hand, then looked over at the disheveled pile of discs. His chest grew tight as realization slowly crept over him. How could he have been so incredibly stupid, so damned careless? He had mixed this holodisc in with the armor speculations! What the hell was happening to him? He was growing ever more distracted, soft, and weak as the days passed. He had allowed Watto to discover his secret. But worse than that…he couldn't bring himself to kill him for it.

Planting his hands on the recorder stand, Fett bowed his helmeted head, his shoulders shaking in rage. His voice was a mix of lethal intent and sheer desolation when he whispered, "You don't know how close you are to dead right now, Watto." 

Watto lay crouched on the floor, his wings wrapped around himself, still sniveling uncontrollably…until poignant realization suddenly hit him. In an instant, he immediately understood why Fett had reacted so violently to him viewing that holodisc. He stared at Fett, who stood with his head lowered and his shoulders bent, and found he no longer saw the feared bounty hunter, the terrifying legend. For the first time since they had met, he saw a damaged, _real_ human being standing before him, urgently trying to protect something dear to him, and feeling as though he had failed. Watto stopped his crying as he felt his utter terror of Fett begin to wane. So, there was a man beneath that armor after all…

"I…I din't know ju had a family," he choked quietly.

He heard Fett take in a deep breath. "No one knows." Despite Fett's low, menacing timbre, Watto could hear the heavy emotion in his voice loud and clear.

The Toydarian straightened up. His gravelly voice was calm and soft when he said, "Jour wife is beautiful, sir."

Fett raised his head only slightly when he said, "Yes, she is. But she isn't my wife." Again, the emotion in his voice was subdued yet unmistakable.

"Ah," Watto replied, twitching his snout slightly. "But ju do love her, no? And jour baby?" With a newfound courage, Watto flew up and over to the bounty hunter's side. "And ju would do anyting to protect dem, jes? Even cut off my wings?" He waited for Fett's response—he got none; Fett continued to stare straight ahead at the shop wall. Watto sighed and shrugged. "OK, den. Go ahead."

It was then Fett's helm turned to the Toydarian. "What?"

Watto turned himself mid-air and set himself down on the edge of the recorder stand. His wings fell still as he presented them to Fett. "If dat will prove to ju dat I will tell no one, dat jour secret is safe wit me, den take my wings. If dat's what ju need, I humbly give dem to you, sir." He took a deep breath before he blurted, "Just make it quick, OK?"

The silence was thick within the shop's walls. Watto waited with his eyes clamped shut and his teeth clamped on his lower lip. Many minutes went by, but Fett did nothing, didn't move, didn't speak. Finally, he heard the rustling of fabric and the soft clank of armor behind him. He carefully opened one eye to see Fett come around him and raise his bladed bracer. Watto swallowed hard, but did not cry or whimper; he merely closed his eye again and waited…It was only when he heard a sharp _SNAP_ did the Toydarian open his eyes and see that Fett had closed the blade back into its housing. 

"Keep your wings," the bounty hunter said softly. Watto's body slumped slightly as he exhaled with relief. The shop remained still once again before Fett finally broke the dense silence. "That took courage, Watto. You have shown me that you are, indeed, a man of honor. You've shown me that I can trust you." 

Watto gazed into Fett's visor and, although he could not see his eyes, knew that he and his infamous client had reached a new level of understanding each other. "Tank you, Master Fett," he whispered, his voice hoarse yet steady. "It is a great honor to have your trust." He cleared his throat. "Ju want a drink?"

Fett shook his head. "I don't drink."

"Well, den…mind if I have one?"

"Go ahead."

Watto flapped off the stand and floated through the dirty curtain that served as his kitchen door. He came back out with a tall brown bottle in one small hand and a mug in the other. As he poured the thick red liquid into the mug, a question was nagging at his mind and, even though he knew he shouldn't ask it, he simply had to know. "So…de rumor about ju? Not true den?"

Fett's helm tilted down slightly as he relaxed his stance. "Which rumor would that be?"

"Dat ju are…" Watto hesitated for a moment before blurting, "a celibate?"

A quiet snort emanated from Fett's helm, and Watto actually felt comforted that he had humored and not angered the bounty hunter. "It tends to keep certain assassins and other undesirables at bay, so I don't dispute it." 

Watto chuckled as he down a gulp of his liqueur, but then a somber shadow passed over his eyes. "Since I know something about ju now, maybe ju want to know something about me, jes? Fair exchange?" 

Fett tipped his helm. "Go ahead."

"Do ju know how I ended up here?"

"No."

"I used to live on Tatooine," Watto began, looking down and running a leathery finger around the rim of his mug. "I ran a junk and fix-it shop dere, in Mos Espa. Good business too, better dan here." He swigged his drink before continuing. "One morning, about fifteen jears ago, I woke up and saw five stormtroopers standing over my bed. Dey dragged me out into de street, and dey beat me—and dey beat me good, too!" A sad laugh came from his throat as a wince spread across his face. "Dey burned my shop and house to de ground. Dey made me watch dem destroy my entire inventory, everting I owned. Den dey beat me again…and tortured me for two days." Another swig. "When it was done, dey dumped me in de ashes of my shop. I begged dem to tell me why, why had dey done dis? What did I do? De only ting dey would tell me, over and over again was 'By order of de Lord Darth Vader.'" Watto shrugged as he stared into his mug. "I never heard of dis Vader person. I dunno what I did to offend him so much. But he hated me, boy, dat's for sure." He took another long drink.

"Sounds like Vader's mode of operation," Fett muttered.

Watto almost spit his drink right out in surprise. He raised his bald brows high as he sputtered, "Ju know him?"

"I worked for him a few times," Fett replied with bitter wryness. He regarded the Toydarian for a moment before he asked, "So how did you get here?"

Watto looked up from his mug, and the sadness in his eyes was immediately replaced by an impish twinkle. "De day dose troops dumped me off was de Boonta Eve pod race." He leaned closer to Fett and cackled, "And I won! Fifty-to-one odds—two hundred tousand credits! My bookie came to pay me—and found me lying dere. He took me to de Mos Espa med ward. When I was healed, I took de money and bought dis asteroid and a ship from Jabba de Hutt. And I got off dat stinking rock—just to come to anoder one." His tone grew solemn again. "I wanted to make sure dis 'Lord Vader' never found me again. So far, so good." 

"You don't have to worry about Vader anymore. He's dead."

The Toydarian's eyes narrowed into dark slits and a darkly satisfied smile crooked his mouth when he muttered, "Good."

Fett turned around and leaned his back against the recorder stand and cracked his neck. "Watto…take the rest of the day off. I'll repair the flamethrower in my ship. We'll resume tomorrow."

"OK, Fett."

The bounty hunter turned his helm toward Watto. "One question."

"Jes?"

"When you offered me your wings. You were bluffing, weren't you?"

Watto stared anxiously at Fett. "I was bluffing like hell." But then he started to laugh. Soon, he escalated into outright guffaws. 

And although he couldn't quite be sure, he thought he may have actually heard Fett chuckle under his helmet as well.

* * *

Admiral Daala stole a cold glance at the timepiece hanging on the wall of her ready room as she took another slow, deliberate sip of naris-bud tea. She mentally acknowledged the stimulant beginning to course through her system as she, annoyed, set the cup down with a clatter. She tapped short nails against the desktop. They were late: Not surprising. What more could one expect of petty criminals…?

The only woman ever to reach the rank of Imperial Grand Admiral brooded as she stared out of her massive viewport. The stimulant that she had hoped would sharpen her was only making the churning in her usually steel-lined stomach even worse. How had things come to this bleak circumstance? How could the greatest military force this galaxy had ever seen been reduced to but a pittance of what it was only months ago? The news of the deaths of Vader and Palpatine had swept through the more civilized quadrants of the galaxy like a plague, and with the news came the civilian uprisings. First came the fall of Orri Prime, the Empire's richest durasteel mining planet and the very core of its ship and weapon building industry. Then the throneworld, Coruscant. Then Naboo, the Empire's agricultural planet and main food source for its military might. Then Corellia and its indispensable shipyards and factories. One by one, the star systems that made up the very spine of the Empire fell like a fortress of cards blown by the wind, leaving nothing but chaos, disorder, and dismal morale.

The Battle of Endor had practically crippled the Imperial Naval Fleet: only one out of three Destroyers had survived. Those Destroyers that had withstood the onslaught of the Rebel's wretched rag-tag fleet were left standing only to be wiped out by the nuclear explosions of the new Death Star and Vader's flagship, The _Executor_. Daala clenched her eyes and set her jaw as she fought to keep her disgust down in her gullet. Tarkin had been right all those years—Palpatine had been a madman and a despotic fool! Collecting his best ships, his finest officers, all of his resources to a backwater world to do battle with a handful of decrepit ships, an army of a few half-trained malcontents, and a tribe of gibbering stuffed animals—and LOSING! And for what? To get his hands on some "magic" farm-boy from a system no one had ever heard of? This would NEVER have happened if she had been in command!

The irony of it all suddenly struck Daala, and a bitter smile spread her lip. Palpatine hadn't even known that she existed—Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin had promoted her himself and appointed her this commission, Supreme Commander of the Maw Installation, without the Emperor's knowledge or permission. So be it to say that she would have had very little chance to command that battle, but…here she was now: Holding the tattered remains of a galactic order that had been created by a man who would sooner have had her, a woman, working in the Imperial Brothel rather than take command of his Empire's military force.

And those remains were becoming more tattered every day. Day after day, she received report after report of desertions; poor morale; food, fuel, and medical shortages aboard remaining ships; and Destroyers being attacked, maimed, and even destroyed by roving bands of cutthroat pirate fleets and zealous civilian vigilantes! It was becoming a wonder to Daala that there were any ships left at all seeking the refuge of her Installation, seemingly the only Imperial stronghold left in the galaxy.

She had been forced to defy an order that she had held and obeyed for over ten years in making the Maw Installation's existence public knowledge to the rest of the Imperial Fleet. But what choice did she have? She absolutely could not allow the remnants of the Fleet to flounder out in, what was now, hostile space. Besides, the one who had dictated that order, Wilhuff Tarkin, had now been dead for years. And now with the deaths of Vader and Palpatine and the Imperial Fleet cut down throughout the galaxy, it was more than clear that the only one who held any shred of authority in the now decimated Galactic Empire was she.

And what she was being forced to do with that authority made her sick to her core…

The com on her desk buzzed, and the Admiral immediately knew what for. "Daala here."

"Admiral, Captain Rhys here. Sir, we have scanned an incoming vessel emerging from the beta hyperspace gate."

"Class?"

"Non-Imperial, Corellian D-6 cruiser, leisure make. Sir, TIE squadron dispatched and awaiting order to fire."

"Hold your fire, Captain," Daala ordered in a dull tone.

"Sir?"

"Hold your fire," she repeated, her husky voice even lower with tense emphasis. "Call the squadron back, and dispatch regulation escort. Open hailing frequency upon my order, and stand-by for further instructions. Understood?"

A pause indicated that the Captain did understand, but with uncertainty. "Yes, sir."

"Daala out." She rose from her chair and paced to the mirror hanging on the wall. As she smoothed the creases from the front of her Imperial uniform and tucked the stray copper-hued hairs back into her severe chignon, Daala intensely scrutinized her visage in the mirror, and was not pleased with the face staring back at her. She looked tired, older, worn out. She looked broken.

She walked back to her desk and engaged the holograph. The still image of the late Grand Moff Tarkin flickered onto the desktop, and for a brief moment, Daala found comfort in Tarkin's grave and brooding expression. She reached forth and ran her fingertip along the image's jawline. "Forgive me, Wilhuff," she whispered, allowing a small spark of emotion to soften her usually frigid demeanor. "These are desperate times, my love."

She shut down the holograph and, with her head held proud and a fierce clicking of her boots against the metal floor, strode out the door.

* * *


	7. A Fistful of Credits

I just wanted to start off by saying I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. I personally feel my writing has been better, but at least this keeps the plot going. 

The inspiration for this particular plot line came from the fall of the Soviet Union and its unfortunate takeover by the Russian Mob. I felt it would be a rather fitting predicament for the Empire.

Ivy

Episode 2

Chapter 6

A Fistful of Credits

The thin white streamers of stars instantly imploded back into twinkling dots of light as the gleaming black insectile form of Czethros' fiercely modified and armored D-6 leisure cruiser, the _Dama Fortuna,_ was hurled out of hyperspace. As he lounged lazily in his mammoth black leather captain's chair, Czethros perused this new area of space through the ship's viewshield. The only thing of any note occupying the almost-starless void was the bright array of a black hole feeding upon a small white dwarf star some few thousand light years away and a grouping of barren planetoids off in the nearer distance. Other than that, there was nothing more than black vacuity.

"Charming," he muttered. He turned his bionic visor. "Jober, time?"

"Half beyond the sematron," Jober announced from his pilot's chair. He turned his furred muzzle over his shoulder. "We're late, you know," he grumbled worriedly.

"Only fashionably so." Czethros smirked slightly as he raised his glass from the arm of his seat. He couldn't help but notice the subtle rippling in Jober's pelt, indicating apprehension. "You don't like the Imps, do you, Jober?"

"Only the ones on my payroll. Up until now, I've done my best to avoid the rest of them, sir," the Bothan gruffed as he scanned the nav system screen.

"Well, after today, I think you'll find a new appreciation for our 'glorious' Empire—or what's left of it. They're about to make you very rich." His smirk grew even wider under his bionic visor as he noted the viewshields again. "Well, speak of the devil…"

Czethros, Jober, and the rest of the ship's crew watched the black void warp and bend and, faster than any of them could blink, found themselves gaping at four Victory-class Star Destroyers hovering before them in a regulation Imperial diamond formation.

Jober's fur immediately began rippling wildly as he anxiously moaned, "Boss…?" The Aqualish known as Ca'ckalo shifted nervously in the co-pilot's chair, his lip sacs flapping in the breeze of his nervous breathing. Trodeccu the Wookiee growled low in his throat. All other crewmembers either hurriedly turned away from the view or sat gaping at the immense warships before them, stunned and frightened. It seemed the only one unaffected by the ships' presence was Czethros, who hadn't moved a centimeter from his lax position.

"Will everyone please just _fucking_ relax?" Czethros snapped from his chair. As he swirled his drink in his glass he groaned, "I swear, I'm surrounded by a bunch of ponsy Nubian hairdressers…" 

Ca'ckalo turned to Czethros behind him. "Sir, they're hailing us," he croaked in broken Basic.

"Open a channel."

A hologram of a human male, dressed in full crisp Imperial naval uniform and seemingly in his thirties, appeared before Czethros' chair. "Captain Rhys of the Imperial Destroyer _Imprimatur_. You will hereby identify yourselves."

If Czethros had had any eyes, he surely would have rolled them. "Oh, for the love of—" he muttered under his breath before donning a brilliant, charming smile. "Baron Junius bon Czethros of the starship _Dama Fortuna_. I believe Grand Admiral Daala is expecting our arrival…?"

Although the Captain's face remained frigidly impassive, Czethros couldn't help but detect, with subdued amusement, the unreserved distaste for himself and his crew in the Imperial officer's voice. "Affirmative," the Captain replied stiffly. "The Admiral has commanded that we escort your vessel to the Installation by tractor beam. You are hereby ordered to shut down all repulsor and weapon systems immediately."

"Oh," Czethros huffed casually, lazily waving his black-gloved hand, "is that really necessary? I assure you, Captain Rhys, our visit to the Maw Installation is nothing more than a peaceful business venture—"

"You will follow all orders without further argument or question, Baron," Rhys interjected in a threatening monotone, adding, "Or you will be boarded, imprisoned, and executed by order of Grand Admiral Daala." He raised one eyebrow. "Is that understood?"

Czethros' grin melted just slightly as he lightly bowed his head. "Perfectly, Captain Rhys." Downing the remainder of his glass, he waved to Jober. "You heard the man." Jober narrowed his eyes and set his jaw firm as he glared at Czethros momentarily before turning back to the console and shutting down all systems, save for communications and life-support.

"You will be hailed with further instructions. Prepare for beam engagement. Rhys out." The hologram snapped off. The _Dama Fortuna_ jerked before the captain and its crew heard the low bass hum of the _Imprimatur's _tractor beam and felt the powerful clutch of its tractor beam. 

As the ship and its hulking escort drifted forward at sub-light speed, Jober leaned back in the pilot's seat and folded his furred arms over his vest. "And you wonder why I don't like the Imps?" he muttered.

"Intimidation is one of the few weapons they have left, my friend" Czethros drawled as he rose from his captain's chair and sauntered toward the viewport. "They are merely trying to frighten us."

The Bothan blew a snort out of his muzzle. "It's working."

A low chuckle emanated from the Supreme Vigo's throat as he sidled up beside the uneasy Bothan, once again donning a darkly satisfied smile. "Relax, Jober," he crooned in a soothing baritone, the red dot of light rapidly skidding across his visor as he stared out the viewport. "We were invited."

Czethros could practically feel his crew's fear throb against his neck as the ship was pulled further toward its destination. He chose to ignore it, focusing rather on the array of craggy, lifeless planetoids emerging from the starless horizon and realizing that this was, truly, the highly classified Maw Installation. As they drew ever closer in their escort's grip, he began to make out thousands of lit windows twinkling from within the jutting surfaces. All around the planetoids, a seemingly endless hoard of TIE fighters swarmed about them, as well as numerous frigates, freighters, shuttles, and various other Imperial-class starships.

"What do you think of that one?" Czethros asked, gesturing to one of their Destroyer escorts.

Jober glanced at the warship and scowled. "What do you mean, what do I think?"

"How do you think I'd look in that? Do you think it comes with leather seats?"

"What are you doing, Czethros?"

"Oh…" Czethros sighed, nonchalantly adjusting his expensive black gloves, "just window shopping."

"Boss," Jober said warily, furrowing his furred brow, "I get the feeling there's something you haven't told me. What are you up to?"

Czethros's only response was a turn of his head toward his Bothan capo and an icy, cunning grin.

They seemed to be honing in on one planetoid in particular, the largest one in the grouping. As they approached it, a long, thin line of dazzling white light slowly parted the surface's face like a sinister smile, revealing the maw of its hangar bay. The _Dama Fortuna_ jerked again as it was transferred from one tractor beam to another…

* * *

Daala's aides stood awaiting her in the antechamber of her ready room as she came through the door. She stood, tall and stoic, as a junior officer handed her a pair of black gloves. Another laid her formal Imperial dress cape over her shoulders and clasped it to the epaulets of her uniform. Pulling the gloves onto her hands, she raised a cold glance to the aged officer standing directly in front of her. "Report, Pellaeon."

Admiral Pellaeon acknowledged the presence of his superior officer with a curt nod before replying, "The escort has rendezvoused with the _Dama Fortuna_ and are towing her into the main hangar bay as we speak."

"Have the vessel scanned for explosives and her captain and crew searched for weapons before disembarking. If they do not fully cooperate, give order to fire at will with blasters set on kill."

"Yes, sir." Pellaeon turned to his flanking captain. "Relay the Admiral's orders to the hangar squad." 

"Yes, sir." The captain abruptly saluted his superiors before exiting the room.

Admiral Daala ran a quick scan over herself, ensuring that she appeared the very model of stark Imperial efficiency, force, and suppression. "Admiral, you will accompany me to meet with our…guests."

"Of course, Admiral Daala." With that Daala, Pellaeon, and the rest of her uniformed entourage walked through the door into the black metal corridors, where their roundabout awaited to take them to their destination.

* * * 

"Is this entirely necessary?" Czethros asked with as much diplomacy and patience as he could muster as he stood with his arms raised. The stormtrooper ignored him as his hands reached and grabbed at every pocket, seam, bulge, and crease in Czethros's clothing. He turned to see the rest of his crew in similar compromising positions in the hold, all bent with their feet spread and their hands on the bulkhead, each with their own personal stormtrooper searching them.

The uniformed Imperial in charge of the Dama Fortuna's search decided to answer Czethros's question himself. "By order of Grand Admiral Daala, Baron."

The high-pitched yelp of the Bothan suddenly barked off the bulkhead of the Dama Fortuna's main hold. "Hey, WATCH THE HANDS!" he snarled as he snapped his jaws at the stormtrooper searching him. His outburst was immediately answered by the clacking of several blaster rifles aimed directly at his head—

"Jober! DOWN!" Czethros growled. Jober instantly backed down, raising his paws once more into the air and glaring viciously at the troops aiming at him. Czethros turned his bionic visor to the Imperial in charge. "Sir, please. He is my second and bodyguard, and hence unused to this sort of treatment. I assure you," he said as he shot a warning glance at the Bothan, "he will comply to all demands. Won't you, Jober?"

Setting his jaw, Jober grimaced and answered with a brusque nod. At that very moment, the stormtrooper performing the search pulled a small vibroblade from out of the back of Jober's pants, presenting it to the Imperial. Jober's furry shoulders slumped just slightly under the Imperial's piercing gaze. "For self-defense. A gift from my mother," he muttered. 

Another stormtrooper came around them, carrying a large bin brimming with blasters and blades they had confiscated from the rest of Czethros's crew. Jober's stormtrooper tossed his vibroblade on top of the pile. "That's the last of them."

"And the scan?" the officer queried.

"Clean, sir. No other explosives or detonators onboard save for the ship's defense systems. Those have been disengaged."

The officer nodded, then turned to Czethros. "You will remain within the hold until given signal to disembark. Your weapons will be returned to you when you leave," the Imperial stated: Both Czethros and Jober heard him add, under his breath, "IF you leave…"

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Czethros expressed with false jocularity, bowing slightly at the waist. "On behalf on my crew, I would like to express our most humble gratitude for your thoroughness and hospitality so far." The Lieutenant shot him a look of unrepressed malice as he motioned the troopers to file out into the bay.

As they watched the troopers clank down the ramp, Jober moved to Czethros's side, adjusting his clothing with irritated jerks, his pelt rippling wildly. "This had better be worth all this, Boss."

"It will be. Oh, it will be." Czethros stood just within the arch of the ship's ramp, peering out into the hangar as squads of troops and officers marched into the bay. Taking their formations on the floor and the bay's catwalks, music suddenly blared through the bay's loudspeakers, and Czethros's recognized it as the Imperial anthem. Several score of stormtroopers lined up in the middle of the bay, creating a corridor from the ship's ramp. Once they had taken their positions, all troops and officers snapped their heads in unison toward the receiving platform located at the far end of the bay.

Amidst the rousing Imperial fanfare, a human woman ascended the platform from a rear staircase, flanked by an entourage of high-ranking Imperial officers. The thing Czethros noted immediately was that her uniform was of a slightly different design than those who stood around her; instead of wearing the typical jacket and wide-paneled trousers, she instead wore a one-piece uniform resembling a fighter pilot's flak suit with a matching dress cape pinned back at the shoulder. She was very tall for a woman, reaching a height over one-point-eight meters and as lean as a reed, with square shoulders tapering into a slender waist and slim hips. Hair the color of melted copper was pulled back into a severe bun at the stiff collar of her dress cape. Her features were stark, angular, and severe with eyes that scowled frigidly from under heavily arched brows---not unpleasant, but hardly what Czethros would call 'beautiful'…

"You think that's her?" Jober asked into his ear.

"No, Jober," Czethros snarled sardonically as he watched her assume her place in the center of the platform, "that's some _other_ statuesque female Imperial Admiral. There's so many of them running about…"

Jober ignored his employer's sarcasm. "Handsome woman," he growled with just the slightest ignoble intent in his voice.

"Mmmm," Czethros hummed through his nose, irritated by his second's penchant for human females.

"But a cold-looking bitch."

"What did you expect? That the supreme commander of a secret Imperial military installation would be a Twi'leki dancing girl?" He chuckled slightly at his own joke, adding, "Besides, I would guess a good tumble in the sheets would defrost her rather quickly."

"Good luck with that," Jober snorted. He let a few seconds drift by before he finally voiced what had been on his mind the whole trip. "What if she doesn't go for it, Boss?"

"She'll go for it."

"What if she doesn't?" Jober pressed.

Czethros paused, folding his arms and turning slightly. A strange, small, almost frightening smile spread across his lips as he simply stated, "Then, my hirsute friend…we don't leave here alive…"

As Daala took her position on the platform, so did Pellaeon at her side. The two stood silent as they perused the vessel docked before them and its captain waiting at the top of the ramp for his signal to disembark. 

Admiral Pellaeon, like the Bothan at the other end of the bay, also felt the need to voice his own concerns. "Sir. Permission to speak freely?" he asked quietly, squaring his shoulders.

Daala still held the _Dama Fortuna_ in her icy glare as she said, "Granted, Admiral."

He took a deep breath before he spoke. "No one understands that this is, indeed, a dim hour for our glorious Empire more than I, Admiral. But…I cannot believe that we are in such dire straights as to dirty our hands with such…scum." He drew himself to his fullest height. "I believe where there's a will, there's a way. And if our will is strong enough, we can certainly find a way to solve our shortage problems without having to consort with… filthy _gangsters_."

"Your concerns have been duly noted, Admiral," Daala replied calmly, still staring straight ahead. "But a question comes to mind. Would you be so inclined to freely express your concerns about my judgment if I were, say, Lord Vader?" Silence. Her eyes broke from away to glance sideways at the older man. "I'm waiting for your answer, Admiral."

Pellaeon felt his heart pound and his neck tighten. Gazing straight ahead, he answered softly, "No, sir."

"No, of course not. Because if I were Lord Vader…you would be dead right now." Her voice remained regal, soft, and prosaic as she continued. "But since I am not, I can only leave you with a warning: Doubt my leadership again, and I will have you court-martialed and executed for treason." It was only then she turned to him. "Your Imperial career has been nothing short of stellar, Pellaeon, and I consider you my most trusted and capable officer. It would wound me to lose you over something as trivial as…a case of nerves." 

Pellaeon drew himself to his fullest height, still vast centimeters shorter than that of his female superior. "Yes, sir," he responded without a hint of the resentment and intimidation coursing through him. 

Daala nodded curtly to the officer standing vigil at the _Dama Fortuna's_ ramp, who in turn then motioned to the party inside. "The Admiral is ready to receive you."

Czethros tugged at his gloves, straightened his gem-encrusted rings, checked his breath, centered the massive jewel pinned at his throat, sniffed his wrists to ensure his expensive cologne was still aromatic, and flashed a dazzling smile to his crew. "Gentlemen …prepare to be a part of galactic history."

He strode down the ramp with a gallant sweep, ensuring the two-meter train of his luxuriant full-length, ruff-collared black fur coat caught the breeze he had created. Keeping in perfect beat with the Imperial anthem blaring from the speakers, he confidently strutted down the aisle the troopers had created. Flanking behind him were Jober, Ca'ckalo the Aqualish, Trodeccu the Wookiee, and Splitter the Snivvian, all mimicking his pace, if not his confidence.

As he approached the receiving platform, he spread his arms wide in a gesture of fabricated warmth and kinship. His smile grew to almost distorted proportions as he bellowed heartily, "Admiral Daala!"

Clasping her hands behind her back, Daala moved to the front of the platform and stiffly descended the small staircase. "Baron Junius bon Czethros of Ord Mantell, I presume?"

"In the flesh," Czethros sang. Stopping before her in precise accord with the anthem's end, he tossed the side of his coat over his hip and struck a swaggering pose. "On behalf of my entire organization," he swept his arm across the party of surly-looking aliens standing behind him, "I would like to extend my deepest and humblest thanks for your hospitality this day." He stretched his hand forward. Daala eyed it with dubious hesitation before offering hers to be shaken. Czethros took her hand, gallantly bowing low at the waist, intending to plant a chivalrous kiss upon it—

And was instantly surrounded by a dozen stormtroopers, all aiming the muzzles of their rifles directly at his head.

Evenly, Daala stated in an imperious monotone, "I suggest you don't do that." 

Still bent, Czethros slowly craned his neck from side to side, peering into the blasters' barrels, before donning a vanquished smile and surrendering her hand. "As you wish, my Lady."

"Admiral," Daala corrected with icy clarity as she peered down at him.

Czethros rose and cleared his throat. "Admiral," he repeated. The Grand Admiral of the Maw Installation and the Supreme Vigo of Black Sun stood silent for a few moments, their eyes scanning over the other, sizing one another up. 

Finally, Daala broke the quiet. "I'm sure your men are rather fatigued after such a journey. We have laid refreshment for them in the receiving room. They will reside there until after our conference."

"But of course, Admiral."

"We will meet in my ready room. If you will follow me, Baron." She turned on a highly polished heel and made her way back up the staircase.

Czethros took a step toward the stairs when he felt Jober's paw on his shoulder. "I don't like this one bit, Boss," the Bothan whispered in his ear. He threw a nervous glance at the departing Admiral before adding, "Just watch your ass in there."

"Jober," Czethros whispered back, once again donning his arrogant smirk, "I will leave you with this thought; ponder it while I'm gone. The Empire ruled with terror. The New Republic rules with ideals. But the only real supremacy in this universe is MONEY." His grin grew wider. "And I have plenty of that."

With a sweep of his fur coat and glint of light off his teeth, Czethros swept up the staircase behind the Admiral, leaving an anxiously skeptic Bothan to be scuttled out of the hangar with his equally anxious alien cronies.

* * *

"Please Baron, sit and be comfortable," Daala dryly offered as they entered her ready room. 

Czethros stole a quick assessment of the chamber: Austere, crisp, and angular, right down to the furnishings and art. _Just like her_, he mused.

She made her way around her desk, unclasping the dress cape from her epaulets. "May I offer you anything?"

"Oh, no, Admiral," Czethros said, easing himself into the large yet rigid chair.

"Food? Drink?" she asked as she hung her cape on a wall hook.

"Really, I'm fine."

She turned and stood stiffly, clasping her hands behind her back. "Then what do you want?"

"I just told you, Admiral, I am quite content—"

"That's not what I meant and you know it." All affectation of hospitality and grace were gone, replaced by nothing less than frigid stipulation as Daala glared at Czethros in his chair.

Czethros locked her glare in his own bionic gaze, and once again, his arrogant smirk found its way to his lips. "Precise, direct, and to the point without an air of pretense. Oh…I like you already, Admiral."

"This inane bootlicking is growing tiresome, Czethros," she snapped irritably. "I needn't remind you that you have risked your most certain demise by venturing here—"

"And I needn't remind you, Admiral, that you agreed to grant me audience after receiving my message from my agents. Which leads me to believe that you have at least some shred of interest in what I have to say. So you're right—let's dispense with the pleasantries and proceed."

Daala, unaccustomed to being addressed so tersely, paused briefly, then moved to seat herself in her chair. Folding her hands just under her chest, she asked again, "What do you want?"

Czethros leaned back in his own chair, casually crossing his legs as he answered, almost kindly, "I want to help."

"Help?" Daala repeated. It was her turn to smirk this time. "And what makes you think the Empire needs your help?"

"Because if you didn't, you would have blasted us out of the stars the second we came through the hyperspace gate," Czethros countered firmly. "Instead, we were met by an Imperial escort. Nice touch, by the way." He rose from his chair. "Really, Admiral, this hostility is ungrounded. I come here with the proverbial mu tree branch in my hand, as an ambassador of peace and prosperity, and as a loyal compatriot of the glorious Galactic Empire."

"Since when has any vigo of Black Sun been a loyal citizen of the Empire?" Daala scoffed.

Czethros shrugged lightly. "Granted, the Empire and my organization have… had our differences in the past. Especially with that ridiculous feud between my predecessor, Prince Xizor, and yours, Lord Vader, but… that's exactly what it is, my dear Admiral; the PAST." He came forward to lightly sit on the edge of Daala's desk, adjusting his fur coat to drape across his legs. "What can possibly be gained by continuing to feed old animosities? Each side represented here has their strengths and weaknesses: I propose we cast off our former acrimony, join forces in the name of brotherhood, and watch our strengths proliferate while our weaknesses dwindle into oblivion."

Daala leaned back in her chair, her eyes tapering into slits of cold emerald fire. "And what could you possibly offer us that we don't already have?"

"How about FOOD for one thing?" Czethros snapped. Pulling a datapad from his coat's inside pocket, he continued as he read the pad's content. "This installation's hydroponics facilities can only produce enough sustenance to nourish its original 180,000 inhabitants—the Maw Installation is now currently housing over two million Imperial refugees. According to this information, you will run out of food in less than three standard months. You are also dangerously low on medical supplies, and are currently suffering a vast fuel shortage: Meaning, not only will you run out of fuel for your fleet, but also for your life-support systems. Desertions are at an all time high, and you've cut off the homing signal to the remnant of the Imperial fleet two months ago because you simply can NOT afford to take anyone else in."

Daala's cool demeanor suddenly vaporized as she lunged forward and tried to snatch the datapad from Czethros's hand. "How did you get this information?" she hissed.

Czethros's hand was faster as he pulled it away. "I know, it's disturbing," he said with mocking compassion. "It's utterly disgusting, they way information can be brokered to and fro like so much snuff in trying times." His mockery became replaced with haughty gravity. "Your Installation, like your Empire, is _dying_, Daala. And what is the sad irony of it all? That you have trillions of credits lying in old Imperial accounts that are absolutely worthless. Since the Banking Guild has sworn their allegiance to those snot-nosed Rebel scum that hail themselves as the New Republic, no banking institution in the galaxy will touch you." He rose from the desk, planting himself firmly in front of the Admiral, raised his arms in a kindly gesture and flashed a brilliantly loathsome smile. "NO bank, of course…except _mine_."

Daala froze briefly, clenching her eyes before slowly leaning back into her chair and taking a deep breath. There was no point in denying these facts. She met Czethros's bionic stare. "I'm listening," she muttered with a wavering lilt of defeat in her voice.

Savoring this first small taste of triumph, Czethros sauntered back to his chair and sat down. "I offer you, Admiral Daala, my services as the Empire's Financial Czar. I am willing to take those credits in your accounts and, through my various business dealings, exchange them for viable Republic currency."

"You mean launder them through your casinos," she countered flatly.

Czethros winced. "'Launder' is such an ugly term. I prefer 'solid investments with high returns.' He crossed his legs. "As Imperial Financial Czar, I will then be the prime liaison in all deals of trading. You will purchase all supplies through me—food, medicine, uniforms and clothing, fuel, even shipyard time —all under the protective front of my various companies. And the Imperial treasury will be safeguarded from any Republic threat in the warm, cozy bosom of my banking institutions on Ord Mantell which, as you well know, are operated outside of the Banking Guild."

Daala paused before replying, "In other words, the Empire would be in your pocket."

"On the contrary, Admiral," Czethros corrected smoothly, "This would all be a temporary arrangement. I would hold this position only until the Empire was back, as it were, on its glorious feet. When you have taken back what is rightfully yours, I would then hand all control of the treasury and its components back to you and your constituents. For then, I would surmise, the Banking Guild would, through the Empire's own unique brand of 'persuasion', have seen the errors of its waywardness and sworn its fealty to you once again."

The Admiral huffed a chortle through her nose. "Quite the munificent offer, Baron. I had no idea your loyalty to the Empire ran so deep." Clasping her hands once again, she looked fiercely at Czethros. "What's in it for you?"

"Oh," Czethros gasped lightly, placing his hand on his heart as though he'd been shot. "Such cynicism! But you are correct, Admiral. Alas, as much as it would warm my soul just _knowing_ I have played a substantial role in restoring our beloved Empire to its former glory—and beyond—I do require … _minimum_ reward." He rose and sauntered elegantly over to admire a particularly interesting piece of art hanging on the dark gray wall. "It's nothing, really…a pittance." He snapped his head over his shoulder as he blurted, "Ten percent exchange rate."

"Ten percent?" Daala repeated. She raised an eyebrow. "Ten percent of trillions would warm your coffers nicely, Czethros. And yet, it is a fair exchange—almost too fair." She lowered her brow as well as her voice. "Why do I get the feeling that's not all you want?"

"Because, Admiral, you are an astute woman as well as a powerful one." He turned away from the art to face her. "Ten percent exchange rate…and a Victory-class Star Destroyer with full military complement."

For the first time since their conference began, Daala momentarily found herself at a loss for words. When she realized she was sitting there with her mouth agape, she shook herself from her stupor. "You're joking."

"I assure you, my dear Admiral, I am quite serious. I can also assure you that you will be paid most handsomely for it."

"You want to BUY a fully regimented Star Destroyer," she said dully.

"Well," Czethros replied, lightly tossing his hands up, "I was more thinking _leasing_ with option to buy…"

Suddenly and very unexpectedly, Daala began to laugh. Softly at first, but soon her low, husky peals rang off the harsh steel walls of her ready room. Czethros outwardly remained still and poised; while inwardly he fought with everything he had not to backhand the arrogant bitch across the face, as he would normally do with any woman who laughed at him…

Finally, sniffing deeply as she composed herself, Daala shot a look of pure malice mixed with utter disdain at the Supreme Vigo. "What, Czethros, making the transition from crime lord to warlord? Pushing drugs and pimping not as lucrative as it once was?"

Czethros gritted his sparkling teeth and hid the fist forming in the sleeve of his lavish coat as he forced his charismatic smile back to its former intensity. "Those days are behind me, Daala," he crooned in a satin-draped lie. "This is a time for rebirth, new beginnings. I no longer desire nor need to dirty my hands with such…_disreputable_ dealings. I aspire to something greater, something loftier…something more… respectable." His tone became low and severe. "And it means I bring something else to the table, so I humbly ask you to keep your humor in check whilst you hear me out."

"What possible reason would you have to acquire such a vessel, Czethros?"

"The reason leads me to the second component of my offer, Admiral." Once again, he made his way to her desk, setting both gloved palms upon its gleaming surface and leaning forward. "With such a vessel under my command, it would be that much easier to obtain my –and your—primary goal in this affair, the 'crown jewel' as it were of my bountiful offer, which is…" He couldn't help but pause dramatically for maximum effect, "the Dia-Orri system."

Daala's incredulous smirk instantly melted, and Czethros, for the first time, saw a flicker of intense interest in her cold jade eyes. "The durasteel mining system." 

"Yes Admiral, the very backbone of the Empire's building industry." Czethros straightened himself to his full imposing height, hooking a thumb into the pocket of his expensive embroidered vest. His tone became subdued and unyielding as he met the Admiral's eyes once again. "Once the Empire has regained its vigor, then comes the daunting task of rebuilding its fleet. How do you presume to do that, Admiral, when over fifty percent of your durasteel ore requirements came from a lone system now allied with the New Republic? The answer to that is quite simple." His lips curled into a tight, almost sinister smile. "Let me take it." The smile grew wider. "Give me the governor's seat, and I guarantee the Empire will have enough durasteel to build a fleet ten times greater than it has ever known." 

Daala paused, glancing briefly to the gleaming top of her desk, before snapping her gaze back to Czethros. "Go on."

Smelling blood in the water, he continued. "I've even made it easy for you." Taking out the datapad again, he pressed a series of buttons and turned the screen toward the Admiral's view. "I not only have full records of shipping rosters, but surveillance vids of Orri Prime's security patrols—or lack thereof. They're only defense right now are five decrepit X-wing fighters, and a handful of outdated Z-95s: Obviously, the Rebels feel their security forces are needed elsewhere. And it seems they're having a few problems obtaining vital parts for their satellite defense systems." He sniffed lightly. "Pity."

"And I'm sure you had nothing to do with that, eh, Czethros?" Daala queried with husky sarcasm. 

He grinned. "Again, you are an perceptive woman, Admiral." He regarded her for a moment: She had relaxed her staunch posture as she listened to him, even leaning on the chair's arm and leaning her cheek into her hand. A small smile had even made its way to her lips. Oh, so close, so very close—Czethros mustered every shred of discipline he had to keep from busting right there! He reveled that this redheaded razorshark of an Admiral was circling around his hook…

"What of their ground forces?" 

"Laughable," he snorted. "According to my sources, they are nothing more than a handful of semi-literate former slaves who couldn't find the business end of a blaster with both hands."

He leaned forward on the desk again, snaring Daala's gaze into the red blip of his visor. "One battle-ready warship," he whispered smoothly, "with a fully regimented TIE squadron and a stormtrooper brigade. I've done all the calculations: We could take the system in a matter of _hours_." 

Her expression darkened somewhat. "Have you taken the Rebels into account here?" Daala asked. "They would launch a counter attack almost immediately."

"Daala," Czethros murmured in jovial admonishment, "do you really think I haven't thought this through? How would Orri Prime reach the Rebels…without any communications?" Again, the malicious grin. "The very first thing we would do, of course, is destroy every interstellar com satellite in orbit. It would be DAYS before the Rebellion would even get wind of it, and by that time…we would be fully entrenched with reinforcements."

She stared at him briefly, then shook her head. "I don't know, Czethros. Taking an entire system with only one Destroyer—"

"One is all I need, Daala. Have you ever heard the expression, 'candy from a baby'? There is no reason to waste your precious resources on something as… straightforward and undemanding as this. By Force, this campaign would be no more challenging than basic training." He paused, watching the Admiral. She sat motionless, her eyes cast slightly downward, as she was deep in thought, her fingertips tracing idly upon the desktop. So close to biting—it was time to tug the line: "Let me take it back for you. Allow me to be your Hand. Everything I offer will be yours, I swear it. All I need is that Destroyer. With my wealth and your might, there would be no stopping us!" Pause. "It is the first step to a glorious renaissance, Daala. The rebirth of the Empire—YOUR Empire—by your own hand." His cards were all laid out, save for the trump, which he now dared to pull as he stated softly, almost tenderly, "Tarkin would have wanted you to have it."

Her eyes snapped up, and the red hue flushed up from her collar to spread across her pale triangular face. She took a breath as if to retort, deny, anything—but then stopped. At this moment, it didn't matter how he knew about Wilhuff. Czethros was right—Tarkin would have wanted her to carry on, to enforce the mighty Tarkin Doctrine, to take the Empire in his place, just as he was about to take it from Palpatine…

She glanced up at the Baron. "Do you have a global map of Orri Prime's installations on that pad?"

"In full three dimensional relief, Admiral, of course."

"Then sit." She touched a button on the desk, and the screen of her viewer slowly rose from the desktop. "Though your zeal is admirable, Baron, you are a military novice. Therefore, we will formulate a battle plan together…"

"Does this mean you accept, Admiral?" Czethros interjected.

Again, those eyes of frozen emerald bore into his visor, and with an expression as cool and stoic as her tone, Daala answered, "Yes, Baron. The Empire accepts your offer of fealty."

* * *

The alien band of Czethros's henchman was shuffled back into the hangar bay just as unceremoniously and gruffly as they had been shuffled out but Jober, the renegade Bothan was glad for it. The last four hours of pacing back and forth in the receiving chamber had taken a toll of his already-frayed nerves as much as it had on the chamber's durasteel floor.

As they entered the bay, Jober looked to the ceremonial platform as the others made their way back to the ramp of the _Dama Fortuna_. He exhaled in relief when he saw Czethros, still alive and breathing, ascending the platform from the rear, accompanied by the tall, redheaded Admiral Daala. He watched them exchange a few words, and then scowled when Czethros actually performed the Imperial salute, which was immediately mirrored by Daala herself. Czethros then broke away, descending the platform onto the hangar floor. Jober instantly moved to meet him.

"What the hell took you so long!" Jober hissed quietly, shooting a nervous glare at Daala. "What's going on, Czethros?"

"That's 'General Czethros', Jober," Czethros replied with a triumphant smile. He reached to the lapel of his luxurious coat, peeling it back to reveal the bar insignia of Imperial General pinned there. He forced himself to hold back laughter, as he thought for a second he would have to help his Bothan second pick his jaw up off the floor.

"Czethros…what the fu—"

"Come with me." He took the Bothan's furry arm and casually strolled past the _Dama Fortuna_ toward the mouth of the bay. They stopped and with a grand sweep of his arm, Czethros announced, "Let me introduce you to our new ride home."

Jober turned his confused glare out the portal—to see the colossal monstrosity of the _Imprimatur _hovering just outside the hangar bay.

Suddenly, his Bothan brain clicked and whirred, and everything finally fell into place. He turned to Czethros and breathed, "That's what this was all about. You're taking Orri Prime."

"No, Jober—_we're _taking Orri Prime." It was then Czethros began to laugh—a loud, hedonistic laugh brimming with triumph and wickedness that ricocheted off the cold steel ceiling. 

Jober joined him in a guffaw of howls and snorts. He thumped his huge paws on Czethros's shoulders. "You sick, twisted son of a bitch!" he howled uproariously. "You got balls the size of Death Stars! I worship you!"

"You would be the first of trillions, my friend." He slung his arm around Jober's shoulders and leaned in close as he lead them back to the ramp of their ship. "Destiny awaits us, calling us home! The Empire is hobbling on broken stubs, and it will be years before this ridiculous 'Republic' can wean itself off Leia Organa's velvet teat. In six months time…" he crooned, a smile of sheer malevolence twisting his lips under his bionic visor, "who do you think will be _running_ this galaxy…?" 

……

And as they laughed in the exhilaration of their glorious coup, little did they know that somewhere, out in an uncharted part of the Outer Rim, on a world of death slumbering under a sky of rage, in a palace built on the bones of millennia-dead slaves and mortared with their blood, a tattooed Lord of the Sith laughed with them…

* * * 


	8. The Voice of Blood

Episode 2

Chapter 7

The Voice Of Blood

_I'm not the one who's so far away_

_When I feel the snakebite enter my veins_

Never did I want to be here again 

_And I don't remember why I came._

Godsmack, Voodoo

With his arms folded and his jaw set firmly, Luke perched lightly on the desk in his Jedi Temple quarters, waiting with obligatory patience as he intently watched I'Lai's life-size shimmering holographic image for her response. She seemed perplexed and a bit puzzled, but not upset or frightened. For this he was grateful, if not entirely relieved.

He had just told her of his vision.

Her eyes dropped down to the floor, and her brows wrinkled. "I…I see…" she breathed. 

"I'Lai, have you seen anything like this? Does this sound familiar at all?"

She paused. Luke held his breath as he waited for her response, and exhaled in sharp frustration when she shook her head. "No, Luke."

"I'Lai, are you sure? Absolutely positive?"

She sighed and half-smiled. "Luke, if I were having visions of a long-dead Sith Lord, don't you think I'd tell you?"

Luke, setting his hands on his hips, breathed a deep sigh. "Yes, of course you would, I'Lai."

"Of course I would." She tilted her head to the side as she asked, "You're sure the baby in the vision was me?"

"I'm positive, I'Lai. I could read your signature. He spoke your name."

Her face clouded as she cast her eyes to the floor. "No…that's not possible," she said, shaking her head. "I was born in an orphan's home on Coruscant. I have the record."

"But there's no record of your parent's names."

"No." Her eyes misted briefly with a touch of sadness. "My mother died during the birth. According to the record, she showed up at their front door, already in labor. They thought she was perhaps a beggar or a prostitute. She never gave her name. And of course, no one had any idea who my father was."

He looked at her with deep sincerity. "I'm sorry, I'Lai."

Again, her warm smile spread across her face, and she shrugged. "Don't be. For an orphaned urchin from the lower levels of Coruscant, I've done fairly well, don't you think?" With that, she dropped her head down just a tad, her mouth set in a playful smirk, and her deep blue-green eyes twinkled from under her brow.

Luke laughed softly at first…but his smile faded when he was immediately struck by the expression on her face. I'Lai was never more beautiful than when she smiled, but…it wasn't her beauty that caught him just now. Her face did not seem to belong to her, but to someone else…someone who had been dear to him, but was now gone. She suddenly looked strikingly, almost disturbingly familiar…he could swear he was just looking into the eyes of—

She raised her brows as her own smile faded. "Luke, is something wrong?"

"Uh, no, no I'Lai."

"You look like you've just seen a ghost." 

_You could say that,_ Luke thought. "No, no…it's just…it's nothing." He paused for a moment. "You're sure everything is all right?"

She sighed. "I'm fine, Luke. Just…a little lonely."

"Have you heard from him?" Luke asked with cautious concern.

She nodded. "Of course I have. He transmits frequently."

"When is he coming back?" The pained expression on I'Lai's face instantly told Luke he had made a huge faux pas asking that question. "I'Lai, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry—"

"I don't know where he is and I don't know when he is coming back," she replied with a snap in her voice. Suddenly, she burst into a pace and nervously rubbed her forehead. "And it is better that I don't know these things. It's safer for us all." Her edge in her tone softened, and her eyes turned down. "Things are…different for us, Luke. I knew that from the beginning."

Luke watched her slow to a halt and vacantly gaze out the glass doors behind her. They stood for a moment in uncomfortable silence before he offered, "Maybe I should come there, I'Lai."

She quickly turned and shook her head. "No, Luke, please don't put yourself out. Kai and I are fine, really. Besides, I am really very busy with all the new orders coming in for ore. And we've had an outbreak of morumka virus in the Southern Hem, so I'm dealing with that, and…" Her shoulders slumped, "I wouldn't be a very good hostess right now."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, Luke." The dull weight of her tone suggested to Luke the issue was closed.

"OK, then," Luke sighed. His face brightened as a thought struck him. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you the good news."

"What news?"

"Leia is pregnant."

Her reaction was definitely not what Luke had been expecting. I'Lai instantly froze in here tracks, and he could see her body become oddly tense and her eyes become dim, almost frightened… But just as swiftly as it had come, it was gone, and I'Lai's demeanor rapidly changed into sheer exultation. "That's…wonderful news, Luke! She and Han must be thrilled!"

"Yes, they are," Luke replied, his tone still chipper, but now somewhat guarded.

"Well, I must send them a gift! Oh, and a note of congratulations, of course! Oh, this is exciting!" She clasped her hands under her chin, her smile broad and sweet. She flashed her eyes back to Luke. "Luke, I'm sure you'll speak to Leia before I will. Please tell her that if she has any…oh, you know… questions, she is more than welcome to ask me. I'd be happy to tell her what to expect!"

"I will. I'Lai," he added firmly as he watched her reach for the com button. She stopped and looked at him with large, innocent eyes. "Are you _sure _everything is all right?"

Her gaze remained steady, and her tone was bright yet notably rigid when she said, "Everything is fine, Luke." Pause. "Don't you believe me?"

Luke found himself weighing that question in his mind. For a moment, he was tempted to try and scan I'Lai through the Force, but then decided against it. For one thing, she was too far away for any reliable reading and, for another…he simply did not want to betray her trust. "Of course I do."

"Well, then," she chirped, "I'll see you for next week's Jedi history lesson." And with that, her holographic image was gone.

Luke stood perfectly still for the next few minutes, staring intensely at the spot I'Lai's hologram had just glimmered. There was no denying the chill that was coursing up his spine. "Something's wrong," he whispered to himself. "There's something she's not telling me…"

* * *

Just as Luke had stared into the nothingness that had once been her image, so I'Lai did the same in her private suite. The elation she had forced at the news of Leia's pregnancy burned away like a lit match, replaced by nothing less than confusion and mild terror…

_Everything is fine…perfectly normal…I haven't seen any visions…Have I…? No, no, that's absurd; of course I haven't…I would remember…_

_Then why…why do I feel like I just lied to him…?_

She leaned back on her desk, bringing a trembling hand to her eyes as she fought to catch her breath…

_Well done, my seraph…_

The temperature in the sun-drenched room began to rise… From under the doors seeped a black vapor, which crawled across the white marble floors toward her feet. I'Lai's breath caught in her throat as the mist delicately encroached about her feet, swirling and wrapping around her legs, enveloping her body and caressing her shoulders…and a face crowned with horns formed within the mist with eyes the color of fire that fed upon her visage…and the voice took her mind…

_Her spawn will destroy you._

The black mist suddenly swirled away from her, hurling across the chamber and striking the full-length mirror on the far wall. Wispy tendrils of vapor lightly floated to the floor.

Memories exploded through the dam of her consciousness, flooding her mind with the forgotten visions, and her hands slapped her temples as though her skull would split from their terrible onslaught: Black desert, red sky; vicious hordes crying the hymn of her name; the cadence of drums filling her ears, the ebon orbs of Death Stars blotting the sky; her son grown, beautiful, and damned_;_ and _him_, his presence constant and unrelenting, feeding on her, fascinating her in his dark soul—

I'Lai immediately sprang around the desk, her panicked hand just shy of the holophone—

_Go, run, cry to the Jedi pup!_ The voice, now seething, hissed throughout her ears. _The moment you touch that button, your mind will blank_. His voice lowered into a darkly satisfied timbre. _And you will only confirm his belief that you are going insane._

She spun toward the mirror, her eyes huge and terrified, her breaths short, wild pants. Slowly, she stepped toward it and into its reflection…

And reflected back, mimicking her movements perfectly, his lips distorted into a ravenous grin, was the black-cloaked, armored, and darkly magnificent figure of Maul.

"You're not real," I'Lai stammered, shaking her head, frantically trying to deny the vision assaulting her eyes "You're dead! Luke told me that you're dead! Killed by a Jedi forty years ago! You are _not real!"_

The hood in the mirror rose just slightly, and the voice that had filled her head now filled the room, his dulcet tones of dark velvet riding the air, vibrating against her skin. "The way you cling to every word that cub spews forth disgusts me," he replied coolly, raising his flaming eyes to meet hers. "I assure you, beloved, I am as real as the blood that flows through your veins." He lightly stroked his lip with the tip of his gloved finger. "As alive as your babe when he feeds at your breast."

The words sliced I'Lai's heart and her blood turned cold, even in the elevated heat of her chamber. Her terror ebbed away, replaced by nothing less than raw fury. Her eyes slit murderously and her jaw clenched as she growled from her throat, "Stay away from my son, Sithspawn!"

His fiery eyes narrowed into smoldering slits, and his lips peeled back from his sharp blackened teeth as he roared, "I do not care for your tone—CHANGE IT!"

The brutal power of his Force-voice alone hit I'Lai like a blow from a fist, careening her to the marble floor, where she landed with a resonant SMACK and a sharp cry. Maul immediately recoiled, dropping his head and curling his fists. His voice became as light as wind, as fragile as smoke. "You stab me, Archae'el. You bleed my heart with this terror of me. Fear is my ally, but yours…is like poison." He raised his head again to peer at her prone form. "Rise and come forward. The filthy ground is no place for a queen." 

I'Lai pushed herself to rest on her hands, and turned her tear-reddened eyes over her shoulder back at his image. Within the mirror's reflection, he raised his hand toward her and a soft, almost kind smile spread his lips. "You want to, don't you?"

"Yes," she blurted, unable to lie. His voice…what made his voice so impossible to resist? How could it seem to weave itself through the sinews of her flesh, the tapestry of her soul? Her hand gripped her chest, as she feared her heart would crush under the immense guilt she felt, but… this confounding, overwhelming need to be close to him, to be bathed in the inferno of his eyes, to be cloaked by the taint of his lust, his _love_…propelled her to her feet. Shakily she walked forward, step by agonizing step, until she stood just a breath from his image in the mirror and stared into his flaming eyes. Maul raised his palm, seeming to press it against the glass. I'Lai slowly, dreamily raised her own, pressing it against the glass…and felt the intense heat emanate from his hand to mingle with her own. 

She leaned her forehead against the glass, and choked a sob. "Why…?" was all she could manage to utter. She swore she could almost feel the warmth of his palm against her hair…

"Because…I am the air you breathe, my cherished gem. I am your beginning, and your end. I am in your blood. Look at me." She did, the cool dewponds of her eyes steaming under the fire of his. "I would never harm our prince, Archae'el," he whispered tenderly, his eyes adoringly drinking in the purity of her alabaster face. "Far from it…I would make him a GOD." He paused before he added, "I would not take him away from you…as the Jedi plans to."

"What…what do you mean, take him away?" she asked breathlessly, her eyes beseeching, her mind, as last time, hazy. "Luke would never take my baby away —"

"Wouldn't he? So naïve, Archae'el." His hooded head tilted slightly. "Do you not know? When a Force-strong child is born, the Jedi rip him from his mother's breast before he can wail his first breath, to pollute him with their corruption and lies, to enslave him with their arrogant dogma. Such has been their way for millennia…hasn't the spawn told you?"

Her lip trembled, and her head shook back and forth. "No…no…Luke is my friend. He wouldn't—"

"The Jedi know nothing of amity, Archae'el." Again, she found herself drunk by the sultry wine that was his voice. "They are loyal only to their own self-indulgent, impotent doctrine. They use those outside of their circle for their own gains." He lowered his hooded head to allow his gaze to pierce her further. "What sort of 'training' has he offered you so far, hmm? The ability to heal a bruise? A few parlor tricks?"

"Luke said…we are taking the things slowly…so I can master control of the Force—"

"He is keeping you docile with weak, worthless tripe!" he hissed through the glass, his darkened fangs gnashing against his lips. "He words you, Archae'el, he cajoles you with promises of nobility and lies of gallantry while all along, he plots with that insipid sister of his! Biding their time, just waiting for the moment when they know they've procured your trust with mocking flattery and empty praise, to wrench our prince from your arms and whisk him to where you will never find him!"

"NO!" I'Lai screeched, pushing away from the mirror. She wildly waved her arms in front of her. "NO, you're lying! They're my friends! They wouldn't hurt me like that!"

"They fear you, Archae'el!" Maul rumbled back, emphatically striking at the glass. "You are stronger than any Force-being this galaxy has ever seen! You are more powerful than the two of them combined! Why do you think that spoiled seed of Vader tricked her idiot pirate into impregnating her so quickly? You have battered her precious vanity! YOU, of ignoble birth, have borne a powerful son before she!" A murky chuckle rippled from his throat. "As she so calls you, that 'third-class galley whore who tupped her way into her position.'"

She froze, her mouth agape. "Leia…would never say that…"

He cocked a hairless brow. "Wouldn't she? How do you know?" I'Lai could only stand there, her lips forming unintelligible, silent words, and her eyes darting frantically across the floor. Maul pressed on: "So now, she breeds with a common criminal she can lead by the nose with the futile hope her progeny could even come close to matching Domein's inherent power. But even now, she knows that hope is moot—and she _hates_ you for it."

She snapped her head in fury to face the Sith Lord head on. "His name is KAI! And he is NOT your prince!" She suddenly burst into frenzied laughter laced with superiority. "No, I know what you're doing! You are trying to turn me, to fill my head with lies and confusion!" She drew herself tall, glaring at him over her nose. "It's been tried. You are not the first Sith Lord to attempt this."

"You mean Palpatine's puppet cyborg," Maul muttered with underlined disgust. Leisurely, he folded his powerful arms over his armored breast. "Don't flatter yourself, Archae'el—Vader was no more than a frightened rodent. He had the power to destroy Sidious all along, to ascend to the throne, but was too mortified, too _timid_ to use it. Instead, he allowed himself to shame the very name of SITH by licking the boots of a senile, lust-crazed despot. Does this fill you with such satisfaction, then, knowing that you resisted the advances of …an insect?" He mimicked her stance, shifting his gaze down his nose as he lifted his chin. "And does it surprise you so that his offspring would take up the task to which he failed? To keep you submissive and occupied with childish games in this sprawling dollhouse, on a provincial backwater world whilst they plot to take the galaxy…and your son?"

"NO!" she screamed, hurling herself toward the mirror and beating her fists against his image. "No one will ever take my son from me! No one will ever call me WHORE! I am NOT a whore! I am the ruler of this world! I am respected! I am… not…a whore…" Her screams suddenly shrank into quaking sobs as she slid down the mirror's glass, crumpling to her knees.

Within the mirror, Maul crouched down. "THERE! Now THAT is your strength, Archae'el, THAT is your power. Your immovable hubris, your insatiable love for yourself, your unrelenting PRIDE." A small smile pulled his lip. "It seems you have inherited more from your father other than his eyes..."

I'Lai's sobs suddenly cut off. Slowly, she raised her tear-soaked face from her knees, and adrenaline shot through her very core. "You…you knew my father?" she asked in a low, shaking timbre.

The black hood tilted slightly. "Do I detect a change in your tone? Not so hostile now, are we?" His smile grew. "In a manner of speaking, yes, I knew him." It was then he began to softly laugh. "He, too, was proud, and so very self-assured, as he took on a task impossibly beyond his limits. But unlike him, your pride will be your triumph, and not your downfall. You will hold the galaxy in your grip, and not tear it asunder, as HE did."

I'Lai flung her hands onto the mirror, pulling herself up on her knees and looking directly into Maul's flaming eyes. "You knew him! You know who he was! Please, please tell me who he was—"

"Why don't you ask your bounty hunter?" Maul snarled maliciously. I'Lai's alabaster skin paled even further as she gawked at him. "He knew him, too, many years ago. Why don't you ask him what your father's kind did to HIS people, to his father, hmm? Why don't you ask him why he hates the _Jedi_ so much?" He paused. "That is…_if _he comes back…"

I'Lai slumped back to rest on her knees, huge tears dropping down her cheeks as her mind stumbled in confusion and despair. Father, friends, lover, son, _him_…it was all happening too fast—"He is coming back…he is…he promised me he would…"

"Then where is he, Archae'el?" Maul quietly demanded.

"I…I don't know—"

"Why won't he tell you?"

"To protect us! To keep us safe—"

"Safe from whom? To his enemies, he is dead. What reason would he leave you here, alone? Could it be that your abilities, your powers frighten and disgust him?"

"NO!"

"That he realized he has bred with the daughter of his mortal enemy…a Jedi's spawn?"

"No! No…"

"Do you think you are the first, Archae'el? Are you so naïve to believe he had some sort of feelings for you? That he hasn't fathered bastards all over this galaxy? That there aren't scores of pathetic, simple-minded women like yourself mooning desperately for his return? That he may actually be bedding one of them right now—"

"STOP IT!"

"And laughing at you with his new-found whore about how he has tricked you into bearing him a son who is worth less to him than his prized bounties—"

"HE LOVES KAI! HE LOVES ME!" I'Lai screeched, springing herself to her feet.

"Has he ever said it?"

I'Lai stopped cold, gawking at the Sith Lord as his question struck her like a closed fist. Maul waited for a response. He received none. "It is a simple question. Has he ever said 'I love you…I'Lai?'"

"He…" Her voice was no more than a squeak as she stood, shaking frantically and clenching her fists so hard her nails dug into the meat of her palms. She bit her lip to keep her sobs trenched within her throat. "He…he is not…accustomed…to expressing…his feelings…"

"Has… he… said… it?" Maul inquired, slowly and casually, the flames of his eyes solid and unflinching in his stare.

I'Lai's answer rasped like the cry of an injured dove. "No."

Maul pressed his hands against the mirrored glass, his eyes growing empathic, his voice as soothing as a lover's caress. "They have all left you, Archae'el. Your father, your lover, your friends, all of them. Your father knew of your existence your entire life and NEVER tried to find you. Your lover has left you to fend for yourself and his son with no intention of returning. Your friends laugh at you behind your back to disguise their terror of your power." He tilted his hood once again. "And here is the question, Archae'el. What is the true evil here before you? Is it me…or is it the doubt in your own heart? Who is here with you now? Who understands your fears, your needs, your power, your pride? Your bounty-hunting clone…or me?" I'Lai stood immobile, her only sound the wheezing gasps of her breathing. Maul's tone dropped even further into a soothing, tender baritone. "I have been with you every second of every day since your beginning. I welcomed you into my arms the moment you drifted into this universe." His sultry, velvet voice actually cracked with emotion. "I have watched you shimmer into the resplendent jewel you are, and have ensured you would never want for anything. Do you think you have all of this by chance? No…I made sure you were pampered and adored your entire life. I have protected you from Palpatine and his minions, waiting for that inevitable day when they had killed themselves off with their lusts and greed, to take you to my side, and make you my own, and to bring you home." He leaned further into the glass, his glowing eyes wanting, beseeching, yearning. "I am the only constant in your life, Archae'el. I am the only one who has NEVER abandoned you."

A wail of heart-wrenching desolation spilled forth from I'Lai's throat. As she gripped her breast in attempt to keep her heart from splitting, she gazed in utter despair at the Sith Lord reflected in the mirror. "_Who am I_?" 

Maul stepped away from the glassy surface and spread his arms forward toward her. "You are the reflection of me, Archae'el. You are…my Empress."

His form began to change within the mirror's glass, bending and morphing into a new image…his tattoos receded away into alabaster flesh…his eyes paled from flaming red to sparkling teal…his features softened into soft curves of feminine radiance…his hood melted away to reveal thick, lustrous ebony ringlets…and I'Lai found herself staring at herself.

But only for a moment.

The image began to morph again. She watched her own hair suddenly blanche from the roots to the ends, from raven black to bleak, iridescent white. She grew elongated and gaunt…the soft pastels of blue and cream that made up her gown became black as pitch, and hardened around her waist, pushing her bosom up and forward, encroaching over her hips and thighs, encrusting her body in slick plasteel form-fitting armor. A stiff, black gorget clamped her throat up to her chin, and her finely manicured nails sprouted forth into sharp black talons. The soft femininity of her arms grew hard and striated, as muscles pulsed forward from behind the flesh that became striped with black tattoos. A long cloak as black as night exploded from her shoulders, to envelop her like a dark lover. The tattoos of her arms slinked along her skin to her face, where they rested like sinister fingers along her jaw and cheekbones while her lips ran red as blood. And her eyes…her eyes lost all color, leeching from sparkling teal into points of silver as sharp and deadly as the edge of a blade…And I'Lai became ill from the noxious essence of the Dark Side that permeated from her own twisted image, who raised her clawed hand to her and spoke with his _voice_…

"And I am merely a reflection of you…my beloved…" 

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" The scream that exploded from I'Lai was not human, but that of a beast born of thunder. A massive gale swept through her chambers, blowing the art of the walls, the vases of the tables, knocking the furniture over to crash against the floor. As her screams grew even more deafening, red streaks of Force lightening crackled all around her, shooting off to hit the walls and ceiling. Her body twisting and seizing by the brute power she pulled into herself, she snapped her eyes to the mirror and threw her fists down—

A blinding pillar of scarlet energy burst from her and crashed into the mirror, exploding thousands of glass projectiles throughout the room, sending them scattering across the floor.

The shockwave that rebounded off the now-shattered mirror blew I'Lai across the chamber, where she bounced off the floor once before crumpling into a heap, unconscious.

The red lightening ceased, and the wind subsided, and the room became still and silent. Until…

A small shard of glass began to travel across the floor. Then another. Then another, until every piece, large to microscopic, slid toward each other, collecting themselves at the base of the mirror's frame, fitting themselves like a puzzle and, finally, ascending into the frame to seal together as though nothing had happened.

The furniture, the vases, and the art all did likewise, positioning themselves back to their proper places, and the chamber was once again the serene and comforting haven its mistress had always intended it to be.

The doors slid open, and in stepped Nikoa, who immediately fell to her knees and bowed her head to the Dark Lord standing within the mirror's reflection. "My Master."

"Rise, my treasure, and attend to my queen," Maul commanded softly.

Nikoa slid toward the unconscious I'Lai. Very gently, she lifted I'Lai's head to rest in her lap, softly stroking her lustrous black curls. "Is she all right, Lord?"

"She will be." Maul answered in a low rumble. "She has sampled her true power. She will need rest now."

"Will she remember?"

"Not consciously, as all the other times before. But the seeds have been planted, and are taking their root." He raised his scarlet-gold eyes from I'Lai's slumbering form to Nikoa. "The minions are on their way to bring her to me. Have you prepared for their arrival?"

"Yes, my Lord," Nikoa affirmed, smiling softly.

"Remember, she is to be no where near this palace once it begins. I will not have her harmed in any way."

"It will be as you command, my beloved Master." 

"Excellent." Maul lowered his tone to that of a loving father. "Soon, my treasure, very soon, you will see the fruits of your unwavering servitude for lo these many years. Very, very soon…"

* * *

The blip of the holophone interrupted Luke's pensive musing. Shaking himself alert, Luke stepped to the desk and hit the button. The sharp image of Dr. Him'bron flickered into view. "Dr. Him'bron!"

"General Skywalker!" Him'bron piped warmly. "So good to speak with you again! As you requested, I have the results of those tests for Lady I'Lai and Lord Kai." He scratched his white-hued head. "Interesting data, that test. I've never quite seen anything like that in all my years of practicing medicine."

"Well, I'm sure a midichlorian count hasn't been issued since before the Jedi purge," said Luke. "I was lucky to find the data in the Temple databanks myself. So, what are the results?"

"I'm uploading them to your holonet destination now. Stand by."

Him'bron's wizened face shrunk and dragged to the corner of a holographic computer viewer that instantly materialized before Luke. Lines and rows of data and numbers began to dot across the screen and, as Luke perused them, the chill that had started in his spine now spread throughout his body. "That…that can't be right," he breathed.

Him'bron's brow furrowed. "Oh, well, I'm sure I followed the procedure you sent me precisely, General—"

"I'm sure you did, Doctor, don't get me wrong. It's just…that they're a bit…_higher_ than I expected…" He gawked at the numbers on the screen.

"If you so wish, General Skywalker," Him'bron offered, "I can run the tests again—"

"Yes, yes please, Doctor. I mean no offense, but I think perhaps a mistake has been made."

"It would be absolutely no trouble, sir. Like I said, I am not familiar with this test data, so I may have made a mistake along the way. I'll contact you as soon as the results are in."

"Thank you, Doctor." He reached for the com button, but then suddenly blurted, "Oh, wait—I must ask you about—" Him'bron's face blinked into nothingness—"Lady I'Lai's health…"

Too late. The doctor had already ended transmission.

Frustrated, Luke leaned on his desk and ran a hand through his sand-colored hair. "I'm overreacting," he whispered. He shook his head. "The doctor will run the tests again, and this time the numbers will be right." But Luke did not feel comforted by this bit of rationalization. Coming around the desk, he turned the viewer toward him and engaged the databank. Again, the midichlorian count numbers spread across the screen:

Lord Kai: 27,000

Lady I'Lai: 30,000

_A bit higher? Their numbers are practically off the charts! I'Lai's count is higher than Leia's and mine combined! And Kai…his is the same as…_

_As my father's…_

Slowly, he sank into his desk chair. The tightness growing in his stomach told Luke that no mistake had been made. The numbers on the screen were correct.

_No one has ever had counts this high in all of the Jedi's history, not even Sidious…_

The visions, the midichlorian counts, I'Lai's erratic behavior rolled in his mind like a Tatooine dust storm. But it was the haunting spark of recognition he had just seen in her face that made him feel…strange and bewildered. With everything else, his mind was filled with sudden memories of recent conversations…

_I've been having dreams about Mother and Obi-wan…_

_You mean the tattooed Zabrak, the Sith?_

_Look upon the mother of a new Order, Skywalker…_

_I know your Master killed him over forty years ago…_

_In my dreams, they are together…_

_My child will hold this galaxy…_

_Mother and Obi-wan…they were making love…_

_My child will watch you DIE…_

_No, they weren't making love…it was a violation…_

_The woman looks like Mother, but it is not Mother…she seems familiar, but I can't tell…_

_Look upon your DESTRUCTION…_

_I'Lai…_

Almost involuntarily he blurted, "Accessing Temple Databank."

His computer's synthetic voice hummed aloud. "Active."

"I require…a hologram." He breathed in. "Kenobi, Obi-wan. Age…twenty to thirty."

A few seconds of electronic blips pierced the chamber's silence before the computer replied. "Found. General Obi-wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, aged twenty-eight galactic standard years."

"Show me."

The beam of the hologram jutted forth from the recorder, projecting the life-size figure into the center of the floor. Slowly, Luke rose from his chair and stepped toward the glimmering image of the young, dashing Jedi Knight before him. Clean shaven, fresh and completely untouched by the trials and horrors that would soon line his face and sallow his complexion and forever scar his heart, young Ben seemed to beam brightly through a portal of time at his former padawan. Luke himself smiled slightly as he noted Ben's noble stance, his softly masculine chin held high, and his blue-green eyes brightly sparkling under thick lashes and sun-kissed brows…

His _eyes_…

As he stopped in front of the young man's face, all color from Luke's complexion seeped away.

"Gods and hells…" he rasped in a thunderstruck whisper, "how could I have not possibly seen it before…" 

All other words escaped him as he stared at into the eyes of young Ben Kenobi, and the eyes of I'Lai gazed back.

* * *

_I think I could definitely get used to this_, Czethros thought with a satisfied grin spread across his lips as he turned away from the immense viewport and peered over the bustling bridge of the _Imprimatur._ The corners of his mouth turned down just a tad. _However, the first thing I'm doing when I'm running the show is change these dreadful uniforms…_

One of those dreadful uniforms, worn by Admiral Pellaeon, made its way up the stairs to the viewport. "Admiral," Czethros acknowledged with a bow of his head and a glint of a charismatic smile.

"General," Pellaeon answered dully, making no attempt to mask his utter contempt for the Black Sun Vigo.

"Report?"

Again, Pellaeon scowled slightly as he cleared his throat. "We will reach the Dia-Orri system in approximately three hours. Whereabouts are your men?"

"In my ship, preparing themselves." Czethros's smirk returned. "I must say, they seem quite beside themselves with the new toys the Empire has provided for this operation."

"Those 'toys' you refer to are the accumulative product of years of Imperial research, engineering, and testing," Pellaeon admonished stoically. "I suggest you tell your men to treat them as such, before they blow themselves and everything within a half kilometer around them into the lower atmosphere." 

"I think you underestimate my faction, Admiral. And me, for that matter." He turned, folding his arms over his broad chest, to face the Admiral head on. "You don't like me very much, do you, Admiral?"

Pellaeon drew himself up, staring blankly out the viewport while clasping his hands behind his back. "I fail to see why my personal feelings toward you should have any merit…_General."_ The tone in his voice made it more than apparent to Czethros that he used the term loosely.

"But they do, Admiral," Czethros crooned. "After everything I have provided the Empire, and still you treat me with this…contempt. I am giving you a tremendous opportunity here! The chance to field test new weapons and new technologies! And I'm providing you the chance to redeem yourself from that laughable fiasco at Endor!" Pellaeon's subtly murderous glance did not escape his attention nor dampen his mirth. "Instead of slinking away in defeat, you will carry the laurel of victory upon your brow! You will be heralded as the Empire's greatest hero, the non-pareil of Imperial valor and honor!" Striking a smug pose, Czethros actually dared stare down his nose at the older officer. "You should be thanking me, frankly."

"Thanking you?" Pellaeon spit quietly. He stepped toward Czethros. "For what? For making a mockery of the Empire I have served for twenty-five years? For twisting my commanding officer into believing your lies and treachery? Thanking you?" A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "By the gods…you really are an insecure little vermin, aren't you, Baron?"

"Now see here, Admiral—" 

"No, you see _here,_" the Admiral hissed emphatically, never once flinching or averting his iron glare from Czethros's bleeping eye. "You may have been able to manipulate a desperate woman in a desperate situation, but your peevish machinations will not work on me. Buying a military rank hardly makes you my equal, and as long as you are on _my_ ship, I refuse to treat you as such." He stepped even closer, and lowered his voice into a terse whisper. "I know what you have in mind for the Empire, I can see right through you. If you and your thugs in there think you even have an iota of what it takes to rule this galaxy, well you can think again, my dear _Baron_." He slit his aged eyes even further. "You and your garrison will take the governor's palace, as promised you, and that is all. You will have your mining world, and THAT IS ALL. I and my forces will take the rest of the planet, and you will stay the hell out of my way." Pause. "Do we understand each other?"

The red blip of Czethros bionic visor eye stuttered slightly as he locked his glare with Pellaeon's. With great effort, he forced his lips, now tight with rage, into the overconfident smirk that was beginning to turn Pellaeon's stomach every time he saw it. "Perfectly, Admiral." He took a long, slow breath through his nose before adding, "However, I have one question."

"And that is?"

"The present governor—oh, what's her name—ah yes, the Lady I'Lai. What becomes of her after her capture?"

Although he wasn't entirely sure, Czethros thought that the old Admiral's eyes became sadly contrite as he answered, "Orri Prime is now, under Imperial rule of law, a rogue system. And its governor falls under the jurisdiction as a traitor of the highest caliber. Once captured, she will be turned over to Grand Admiral Daala, stand before a military tribunal for treason…and executed."

"You seem oddly sorry for the traitor, Admiral. Do you know her?"

Pellaeon shot a frosty glare at Czethros before turning his eyes away to peer out the viewport. "I have met her before. At various Imperial functions." 

"Hmm," Czethros hummed, twitching his lips. "Pity, isn't it? Sending a pretty little morsel like that to a horrible demise, hmm?" His red eye slanted sideways toward the Admiral. "And she must be handed over immediately, you say?"

"YES," Pellaeon answered insistently.

Again, the smirk. "Just checking." Taking in a deep sigh, Czethros announced, "Well, I'm off to survey my troops before we engage. Admiral…I have quite enjoyed our 'chat'." With a faint bow of the head and a long, intense glare from his visor, Czethros sauntered off the viewport dais and strode past the various officers and troopers on the bridge out the door. 

One of the officers he passed was Captain Rhys, who watched him stride out the door before turning his glance to Pellaeon on the dais. Pellaeon returned the captain's glance with a quick nod, and Rhys walked across the bridge and stepped up the stairs. 

The two officers stood silent for a moment, gazing out into the frenzy of hyperspace, until Rhys broke the silence. "I say we do it now, sir."

"Patience, Rhys," Pellaeon murmured, watching the ribbons of stars streak by. "Admiral Daala's orders were clear. We must keep them busy in our confidence just a little while longer until all transactions are complete."

Rhys breathed deeply. "I do not know how much longer I can stand working beside that…scum!" he hissed.

"Not too much longer, Captain," Pellaeon assured him, his voice rich with the calm austerity born of decades of military service. "Once we have Orri Prime under control and the traitor Lady I'Lai is in our custody, I promise you—Czethros and his band of criminals will not leave the planet surface alive…"

* * *

"Now THIS is what I'm talking about!" Jober howled with the glee of a toddler opening a gift as he posed for Czethros in his suit of slick black urban assault armor.

"I take it you approve?" Czethros asked as he came up the _Dama Fortuna's_ ramp.

Trodeccu the one-eyed Wookiee joined in Jober's howls, lifting the mammoth laser gatling cannon onto his equally mammoth shoulder.

Grinning, Czethros perused the rest of his squad in the hold; all of them decked in similar black armor, and all of them armed to the teeth with the new weaponry the Maw Installation had provided them. "You look good enough to take over a planet, boys!" he bellowed heartily, to which his alien cronies responded with thunderous guffaws, yelps, and beating of their weapons against their new armor. As they continued to whoop and wail, Czethros slung an arm around Jober's armored shoulders and drew him close. "Where's Thutchen?"

"Sleeping Ugly's still aquafynned out in the back," Jober answered with a sadistic snarl.

"Keep him doped until we're system bound, then make sure he's awake for his… 'homecoming'."

"Right, Boss…I mean, 'sir'." 

"And remember," Czethros added, his smile melting into a dangerous scowl, "You bring her to me alive and unharmed! If I see so much as a _scratch_ on her, I swear, Jober—"

"I got it, I got it, Boss," Jober assured him. His tone turned possessive and ugly. "Believe me, I don't want to see her marked up anymore than you do. You promised me!"

"And have I ever broken a promise to you, Jober?" Czethros asked soothingly. Holding the Vigo in his glare, Jober blew a snort out of his snout and shook his head. Czethros grinned again. "Once I'm done with her, she's yours. But I get her first."

Jober blew another snort, and shrugged. "I can live with that."

"Good." He ran a hand through his moss green hair. "I'll be in my cabin."

Czethros made his way through the clamorous armored squad in the hold, slapping them on their backs as he passed. He strode through the passageway to his quarters and stepped inside.

Calmly, he unlatched the door of a small compartment in the wall and pulled out a syringe of ryll.

He shoved the syringe of blue powder up his nose. Immediately, every muscle and tendon in his body tensed, and an explosion of adrenaline and rage tore through him. He threw the syringe against one wall and, spinning violently, slammed his fist into another.

Screaming in pain, Czethros stopped, panting like a crazed animal as he fought to calm himself. Cradling his hand, he lumbered toward the wall holograph and turned it on. The beam shot forth, and a small hologram of Boba Fett illuminated the nightstand next to his berth. Sitting on the cot, Czethros reached up to his temples and carefully unlatched his bionic visor from his eyes. With his scarred eye sockets naked and vulnerable, he continued to glare at the hologram, and he whispered with all of the chilling intensity of a death rattle…

"Now, Fett…now it's time to take something away from _YOU_…" 


	9. The Siege

UGH! FINISHED! FINALLY! (Collapses on her keyboard)

Thanks to everyone for your patience! This is my very first battle scene, so please, be kind in your reviews! I worked really, really hard for the past two months on this, writing and re-writing treatments and drafts, editing and re-editing, etc. and so forth. I really, really hope you all enjoy it!

Suggested listening while reading: "Duel of the Fates", TPM Soundtrack, and "Love Pledge and the Arena", AOTC soundtrack. Both pieces of music were a HUGE inspiration for me!

Enjoy!

Ivy

Episode 2

Chapter 8

The Siege

Orri Prime was the second planet from the sun known as Dia-Prishina, a medium-sized blue star that burned just within the Expansion Region at the Mid-Rim border. Around the planet hovered three small moons known as Criima, T'dosha, and Tarramin, with Tarramin being the largest. A veritable dwarf compared to the three gas giants that shared the system, the name "orri" was derived from an ancient Bothan word "aurriae", which, translated to galactic Basic meant, "pebble." When viewed from the cold vacuity of space, it was little wonder the Bothans used such a metaphoric moniker: A light, grayish-blue stone glistening at the bottom of a midnight pond, dotted with azure patches of fresh-water seas that nestled within its mostly mountainous terrain, swathed in a veil of white vaporous clouds. 

Like most of the mining worlds scattered across the galaxy, the surface of Orri Prime remained mostly rural, save for a few pockets of civilization and industry built around its richest mining veins. But unlike such mining installations like Mimban and Kessel, Lady I'Lai strove to insure that Orri Prime's delicate eco-structure would not suffer from industrial expansion. During the last year since the emancipation of the slave miners, she had worked diligently with a carefully selected committee of urban planners and architects, which even included a surviving civil engineer from the galaxy's most ecologically minded planet, Alderaan. With virtually unlimited financial backing from Lady I'Lai herself, the committee helped transform the municipal landscape of Orri Prime's urban installations.

The destitute and poorly constructed shantytowns the miners had inhabited were torn down and replaced by solid and aesthetically pleasing townships with comfortably spacious homes, state-of-the-art medical facilities, and bright, airy public schools. Free commerce had replaced the late Grand Moff Denivrian's ration programs, and hence markets, kiosks, shops, taverns, and eateries had sprouted all up and down the newly paved streets of the planet's various townships. Designs and procedures regarding sewage, public sanitation, emissions and air quality were all carefully executed and monitored. And all mining operations were restricted to the strictest codes of safety, not only for the miners themselves but also for the environment in general.

But perhaps the greatest change could be seen in the Orrians themselves. Since Orri Prime had no indigenous civilization or intelligent life, the entire population was made of political prisoners and destitute refugees purchased by Denivrian to be slaves in his durasteel mines. Almost every sentient, oxygen-breathing race the galaxy had to offer was represented in the Orrian population: Humans, Rodians, Bothans, Wookiees, and so forth. Since most of the freed slaves had no one to call family and nowhere to call home, many opted to stay and partake in Orri Prime's rebuilding. While many stayed in the mines and enjoyed their new substantial salaries and benefits, others opted to start their own small enterprises, providing goods and services to the newly freed populace of Orri Prime. Mass media became available to the people for the first time, and soon almost every household had a holovid installed, making the holonet accessible to all. Children were no longer forced to work in the mines. For the first time, children of all races they were allowed to go to school.

On the day Lady I'Lai took position as Acting Governor and declared emancipation, she also declared that Orri Prime was no longer an autocratic dictatorship, but a democracy. Throughout the following months, the newly built townships freely elected magistrates, city managers, constabulary, and other public officials from within the former slave corps. And although the gubernatorial elections were only weeks away, there was a distinctive lack of candidates opposing Lady I'Lai, for the simple reason that no one had any wish to run against her.

Yes, Orri Prime was a vastly different world than it had been just a year prior. The Orrians no longer lived in fear, disease, starvation, or misery. They were becoming a strong, educated, self-sufficient, and humbly prosperous people.

Not one of those people suspected the menace that lurked just four kilometers within the atmosphere of the system's second gas giant…

Admiral Gilad Pellaeon stood in front of the massive viewscreen on the bridge of the _Imprimatur_, arms folded and jaw set firmly, watching Orri Prime's orbital activity with the same intense focus of a diamond cutter. Although the magnetic disturbance of Orri Theta's atmosphere caused the viewer image to fuzz and crackle, Pellaeon's experienced eyes peered through the static, allowing him to see the last of the morning's shipping freighters power out of Orri Prime's gravitational pull toward deeper space. This same experience also allowed him to ignore the sharp creaks and groans in the _Imprimatur's_ hull, unsettling noises that did not go unnoticed by the bridge's younger and less experienced crew.

A particularly loud CRACK! caused Captain Rhys to roll his eyes nervously toward the ceiling bulkhead as he made his approach toward his superior officer.

"Sir," Rhys whispered hoarsely as he came up beside Pellaeon, "I feel the need to inform you that the atmospheric pressure of this planet is causing great strain on the hull."

"I am aware of that, Captain," Pellaeon replied collectedly, still monitoring the course of the departing freighter.

"But sir…we risk chance of a breech. If the _Imprimatur's_ hull breeches, then surely— "

"And what do you suggest, Captain? That we fire the thrusters and ignite the entire hydrogen atmosphere? Besides incinerating this vessel into ash, I think it would also blow our cover rather well, don't you? 

"There is always the cloaking device, sir—"

"Cloaking devices can only do so much, Captain. What good will jamming their sensors do if an X-wing pilot can merely look out his viewport and immediately report to Ground Control? We are in system now, too close proximity for a cloaking device." It was only then he turned to his younger officer. Unlike most high-ranking officers of the Imperial Navy, Pellaeon never let his experience feed his arrogance nor did he take the doubts or fears of his junior officers personally. He had great faith in Rhys's abilities, which was why he had suggested to Admiral Daala that they take the _Imprimatur_ for this mission rather than his own Destroyer, the _Chimera_. He also understood that this was Rhys's first wartime command since his commission. "We will not be in atmosphere long enough for the hull to breech, Captain. The planet's rotation will carry us into the largest moon's gravitational pull. We will then lock the tractor beam onto the moon and lift out of the atmosphere, and from there we will embark when the timing is right."

Rhys simpered slightly and nodded, letting out a small sigh. Why hadn't he thought of that? "Of course, sir. Yes, sir." 

"Always watch, Rhys, and never stop learning. Technology is merely a tool; it will never completely replace instinct or experience. That is the best advice I can give to any officer." He turned back to the viewscreen. "_Dama Fortuna's_ status?"

"On standby sir, awaiting your orders."

"It has been made completely clear to Czethros that he stick to battle plan, with absolutely NO improvising?"

"Quite clear, sir," Rhys answered dryly.

"That goes for the pilots and the troops as well, Rhys. They are to target military and weapons installations only, and keep civilian bloodshed to a minimum."

The Captain knit his brows slightly. "Sir?"

Pellaeon turned slightly to his younger officer, his gaze as sharp as his tone. "This is an Imperial reclamation of one of its systems and not an act of revenge; hence I expect it executed as such." The Admiral's eyes turned pensive, and his voice lowered. "We are about to return a newly freed people back into slavery; I think that is punishment enough for the crimes of their governor without mindless slaughter to add to their woes, don't you?" 

Rhys nodded once, swallowing hard. "Yes, sir. Understood, Admiral." He turned to peruse the viewscreen himself, and knit his brow again. "That's the last of the cargo freighters."

"Yes, Captain, it is."

"That means Orri Prime will be raising its shields, sir."

"That's exactly what we want them to do…"

* * *

It was just shy of noon on this day that started much like all the other days since Orri Prime's renaissance. Throughout the townships and ports, mothers had scooted their children off to classes, shifts changed in the mines, shops opened their doors and offered their wares, kiosks were slinging fresh bakery and mugs of caf to hungry citizens just going to and coming off work, and the ports had just cleared ore freighters for their early morning takeoffs. Friendly hellos and greetings were exchanged across the streets and walkways. Amiable disputes broke out about which team would take the galactic shockball championship that year. Elderly folks sat hunched over holochess tables in the bright late summer sun, chatting about the weather, their various ailments, and life in general…

In his residence in the Southern Hemisphere Security Headquarters, Lando Calrissian stood in front of his fresher mirror, thankful that his fever had finally broken while silently lamenting that his dashing, holovid-star good looks were still marred by his swollen cheeks and throat.

The buzz of the com in his living suite interrupted his bout with his bruised vanity. He strode out the fresher and hit the button. "Calrissian here."

"Baron, Captain Stitz here. The last freighter has just pulled out of orbit."

"Fine Stitz, go ahead and raise shields. Anything from Gen Corps in today's shipments?"

Stitz sighed on the other end. "No sir. No plasma generators so far."

"DAMN!" He winced, as the exclamation caused his swollen glands to throb. He lowered his voice. "Get them on the com!"

"Already did, sir. Now they say they're having labor disputes, and production has been shut down until talks between the guilds have resumed."

Lando groaned and slouched on his elbows over his desk. He was too tired, stiff, and achy to throw a tantrum. Instead, he fumbled with the cap on the bottle of pain relievers in his hand as he asked, "Anything on the screens?"

"Clear as a ilum crystal, sir. No stellar activity, save for planetary security. How are you feeling, sir?"

"Like the floor the morning after a Jawa's birthday party," Lando mumbled, popping a tablet into his mouth.

"That good, huh?"

"Mmm."

"When will you be back with us, sir?"

"I'll be back today, Stitz," he moaned as he straightened himself up. "Somebody has to clean up the mess you youngsters left during your little three-day vacation without me."

He could hear Stitz chuckle on the other end. "Glad to have you back, Baron. We've missed you."

"Sure you have. I'll be down in a few minutes. Over and out." Shutting off the com, Lando pulled his uniform jacket off the back of his desk chair and slid it on. He stopped at the wall mirror before going out the door, taking in one more sad, self-pitying look at his puffy face. "Morumka virus," he moaned through a thick tongue, gingerly touching a particularly swelled gland. He huffed irritably. "A kid's disease. What am I, seven years old…?"

Lando Calrissian wasn't the only one in the galaxy fretting in front of a mirror…

…………..

In a private antechamber located within the huge reception hall of the now newly established New Republic Senate on Coruscant, General Han Solo grimaced and huffed at his own reflection as well. 

Irritably, he pulled at the high collar of the long, sumptuous robe he was being forced to wear, trying to lessen the weight of it on his neck. As he reached for the collar, the tight brocade waistcoat suddenly pulled up, causing his silk shirt to stick out over his waistband. He tugged it back down, only to have the robe fall down over his shoulder. Again, he reached for the robe, and again, the long frilly cuffs of his shirt he saw reflected in the full-length mirror made him want to rip them off and set them on fire.

Exasperated, he looked at the ceiling and rolled his eyes. "I feel like an idiot!"

"Well, you look like—"

He snapped his head over his shoulder. "Don't say it!"

"I was going to say," Leia continued, stepping behind and wrapping her arms around his waist, "that you look like a _prince._"

Han screwed up his face in a half-scowl, half-smile. "I guess you would know, huh?" He lifted his arms, heavy with the weight of the robe, and shook his head. "So this is what you nobles wear? It's so damn heavy—how do you get anything done?"

"We manage," Leia laughed softly, moving in front of him and adjusting his lapels. "Besides, nobility doesn't dress like this all the time, just for special occasions." She looked up at him with a mischievous glance. "I say today would count as that."

"Leia," he pleaded quietly, his eyes pitiful and hapless, "please don't make me go out there wearing this. I look ridiculous, it's just not me."

"I know—your idea of dressing up is fastening the top button of your shirt." Han slumped his shoulders and pursed his lips. Leia leaned into him, resting her hands on his chest. "Han," she assured him a soothing tone, "you look very handsome. Believe me, girls all over the galaxy will be swooning over you." She cocked her eyebrow. "Just what you've always wanted."

"Pfft, I don't care about that, sweetheart—I think you're mistaking me for Lando." They both laughed, and then Han shrugged. "I don't know why I'm getting so worked up, anyway. No one's going to be looking at me—all eyes are going to be on you." Gently, he took her by the shoulders and turned her around so she could face her own reflection. "Gods, Leia, you look so gorgeous," he whispered into her pearl-adorned hair. He couldn't help but smile. "Thank you for wearing this. I know you've had designers beating our door down to design you something for today—"

"I wore it for you, Han," she murmured, leaning her cheek onto his hand. "I know you like this dress." She lightly touched the gossamer sleeve of her white scoop-neck gown.

It was the very same dress she had worn at the Yavin victory ceremony. 

However, as her hand dropped from her sleeve to slide across her slightly protruding belly and her eyes scanned the cleavage caused by her swelling breasts, she frowned a little. "Of course, it doesn't quite fit the way it used to. I had to let it out."

Han leaned his cheek into her head, meeting her gaze in the mirror's reflection. "I've never seen you look more beautiful, sweetheart," he murmured, planting a soft kiss into her hair. Gazing into her husband's eyes, Leia recognized that the look Han was giving her now was the same exact expression he had worn that day when he first saw her in it. She stifled a laugh as she recalled how awkward he had looked standing there on the ceremonial dais on Yavin 4, nervously shifting his feet, unsure what to do with his hands, and looking utterly embarrassed in front of the entire Rebel assembly—quite a change from the swaggering, cynical, egotistical pirate she had thrown down a garbage shoot just hours earlier. _Had it started that day?_ she wondered silently. _Was that the moment I knew there was more to him than what he wanted anyone to know? When he winked at me…did he know what he did to me? Knowing him, he probably did…nerfherder._

It was then she suddenly realized she was making him go through it all over again…

She turned and placed her hands on his chest, intently looking into his eyes. "You're sure you're fine with this?"

"Kind of late to back out now, isn't it?" Han replied flippantly. "We've already paid for the catering."

"Han…!"

"I'm kidding," he soothed. He pursed his lips again. "Although, we've already had a perfectly good wedding. I don't see why we have to have another one."

"It's not a wedding, it's a reception," she corrected as she smoothed the velvet of his coat and picked off tiny strands of stray thread here and there. "And the citizenry demands it. The people were pretty much up in arms when we announced we were secretly married. They want us to make an appearance as bride and groom."

"And if the people demanded you to jump off a cliff, would you do it?"

"If it ensured public morale and confidence in the new government, yes, I would. But I'd grab you by the collar and take you with me." She smirked again as she brushed off his shoulders. "Besides, I would hardly call standing in the Falcon's cargo hold and exchanging a few words in front of Admiral Ackbar with a Wookiee, two droids, and my brother as witnesses a 'perfectly good wedding'." It was her turn to scowl. "I didn't even have a bouquet."

The little pout on her lip, the tiny whine in her voice, and the bemused look in her down-turned eyes did not escape Han's notice. He instantly caught one of her hands in his own and, when she looked up at him slightly startled, he leaned in to snare her eyes. "This reception was _your_ idea." 

"Don't be ridiculous," she said a little too quickly as she tried to pull her hand away.

Han wouldn't let her budge. "The 'people' demanded it, huh?" he drawled with jovial sarcasm and a raised eyebrow. 

"Well…yes," Leia replied with just the slightest quiver in her voice. She shot him a quick glance before diverting her eyes to the floor. "Well, you saw all the holonet messages—"

"Funny, I don't remember any of those messages demanding that we throw a huge catered affair and invite hundreds of guests who will bring lots of gifts and have it broadcast across the holonet. Do you?" When Leia looked up at him with all the dignity and poise of a preschooler caught with her hand in the sweets jar, he snorted a laugh through his nose.

She jerked her hand from his grip and huffed through her nose. "Well, I _am_ Acting President of the New Republic, and the only surviving member of the Royal House of Alderaan, _and _I'm pregnant with twins! If I can't have a royal wedding, the very least I deserve is a nice public reception!" This bit of reasoning only sent Han further into a fit of giggles. Leia stomped her foot. "What is so funny, Han!"

"Oh sweetheart, you are," he rasped in between hard-fought breaths. He attempted to contain himself when he saw the flush of anger rise from her bosom to spread to her face. "Leia…I'm sorry, but…sometimes, you remind me just how much of a princess you are." He suddenly winced. "Wait, that didn't come out right…"

"Oh, really?" she snapped through her teeth. "Fine. I'm changing my dress." She angrily turned on her heel and headed for the door.

"No, Leia, wait!" He sprang forward to try and catch her, only to stumble on the hem of his long robe.

She stopped and spun around in a huff. "I wore this dress just for you, nerfherder! But if all you're going to do is insult me and laugh at me, I have seven other dresses to choose from in my dressing room— "

"Leia, Leia, Leia, please," he half pleaded, half laughed as he regained his footing and moved toward her. Leia folded her arms, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes into a tight frown. Han breathed deeply in and let it out. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mean to laugh at you, OK?" Leia's scowl defrosted slightly. Han dared to tenderly cup her face. "Do you know why I forget sometimes that you were raised a princess?" Leia shot him a quick glance as she tightly shook her head. "Because when I look at you, I see a soldier who slept on a cot in an ice cave in the frozen tundra of Hoth. I see a commanding officer that survived on nothing but ration bars for months at a time, so her subordinates could eat the real food available. I see a leader who always put someone else's life before hers. And you sure as hell don't handle a blaster like a princess." He smiled when Leia's icy exterior actually cracked with a chuckle. "When I look at you, I see the strongest, most courageous woman in the galaxy. You've sacrificed so much, sweetheart, for so many. If anyone deserves to have a beautiful wedding day, it's YOU. You do deserve this." He sighed. "I'm just a little nervous, Leia. You know I've never been good in front of crowds. Being an ex-smuggler…well, you can imagine how I feel about appearing on the holonet for the whole galaxy to see." 

Leia melted completely, running her hand on his. "I'm sorry, Han. You're right—I AM acting like a spoiled princess. I guess…I'm a little nervous too. And…a little sad." She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek into his chest. "I wish Bail Organa could be here today."

He drew her in close. "You know, sweetheart," he murmured into her hair, gently rocking her back and forth, "I've never been what you would call a 'spiritual' person, but…I like to think that maybe he is. And I think he is very, very proud of you."

They stood there for several long, quiet moments, still locked in each other's arms, until Leia softly broke the silence. "Han?"

"Hmm?"

"You can lose the coat."

"Ugh-- thank you!" he exhaled heartily, moving away from Leia, pulling off the heavy robe with great zeal and tossing it across the room.

The door chimed and Leia, still laughing, called out, "Come in."

The door slid open, and a ray of the high afternoon Coruscant sun blindingly glared off Threepio's newly polished golden metal skin—right into Han's eyes. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Yo, Goldenrod!" Han griped, raising his arm to shield his eyes. "Next time, tell them to lay off the polish a bit at the buffers, OK?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, well…I did want to look presentable for today," said Threepio as he glanced at his shiny arms. He turned his robotic glance back up to Solo and exclaimed jubilantly, "Oh, General Solo, you're wearing Hapian lace cuffs! Quite fashionable, you know, particularly amongst the cream of Coruscant aristocracy right now! I must say, you will most definitely stand out amongst the elite today! You may even end up in one of the fashion holozines—"

"That's it!" Han barked, throwing up his hands and glaring at the frilly cuffs on his shirt. "There's gotta be a seam ripper around here somewhere!" Grumbling in low Corellian, he marched over to the small utility desk and began rummaging through its drawer, looking for a cutting blade.

"Threepio," Leia sighed, trying to rub out the knot that was beginning to form behind her right eyebrow, "what is it?"

"Oh, yes, your Excellency. I merely came in to tell you that Master Luke has arrived."

Leia immediately beamed brightly at the news as she shot a glance to Han. Still rummaging, Han waved to her. "Go ahead, I'll be out in a second."

"Don't ruin that shirt, Han!" she warned jovially as she slipped out the door into the Senate reception hall. 

"Oh…I won't…" he sang after her, making sure she was out of sight before pulling a pocket blade from inside his boot and ripping at the seams of the long, flimsy, embarrassing cuffs.

Leia came out from the short corridor of the antechamber, peering through the multitude of reception guests already arriving, searching for her brother. With her keen eyesight and a little help from the Force, she spotted Luke standing all the way across the massive and exquisitely decorated ballroom. Dressed in his dark formal Jedi robes, he seemed to be engaged in polite chitchat with Admiral Ackbar and General Rieekan. Graciously battling her way through the seemingly endless crowd with their seemingly endless supply of compliments and congratulations, she finally came upon the trio.

"It's too bad you won't be flying the formations with Rogue Group today, General Skywalker," she heard Rieekan say. "I know they miss you."

"Well, I'm sure Wedge won't disappoint the crowd," Luke replied warmly. "I hear he's been running some pretty intricate drills with Rogue Group since he was made Rogue Leader."

" 'Intricate' is an understatement," croaked Ackbar mirthfully, taking a sip of his specially mixed Mon Calamari seawater cocktail. "I never knew the new A-wings and B-wings could perform such tight maneuvers! That rascal Antilles is going to make us have to rewrite the training manuals!" 

"Wedge is always a master of surprises," chuckled Rieekan. Glancing behind Luke, he raised an eyebrow. "Speaking of surprises…"

Luke turned around to see Leia smiling brightly. "Leia!"

"I'm not interrupting anything am I?" 

Her answer came in the form of a tight, warm embrace from Luke. She hugged him back, then broke away. "General Rieekan, Admiral Ackbar! Thank you so much for being here today!"

"We wouldn't miss this day for the universe, your Excellency," Rieekan replied. He took her hand and kissed it gently. Straightening himself, he smiled. "You are absolutely stunning, Leia."

"I tend to agree, your Excellency," Ackbar piped in his endearingly gravelly voice. "Forgive me, however, if I don't mimic our dear General's chivalry. I wouldn't want to slime you."

They all laughed quietly before Rieekan said, "I'm sure these two have some matters to discuss, Admiral. Care to refresh our drinks at the bar?"

"Lead the way, Carlist! Your Excellency, General." Ackbar bowed his large salmon-colored head, then followed the General toward the long, gleaming bar at the end of the great hall.

Luke pulled his arm from Leia's shoulder to inspect her up and down. "Sister Skywalker, you look positively radiant."

Leia rolled her eyes and blushed prettily. "I look fat."

"Oh, stop it. You look wonderful."

"So do you." She smiled as she ran a finger through Luke's short blonde hair. "I like the haircut. It's about time."

"Yeah, well…personal grooming wasn't exactly a number one priority on a desert moisture farm. I was lucky if I got a haircut twice a year on Tatooine." His smile suddenly waned and a slight yet unmistakable brood came over his face at the mention of his homeworld.

She frowned slightly. "Something's on your mind."

"When isn't something on his mind?" came Han's voice from behind them.

Luke turned to greet his best friend, but was interrupted by Leia again. "And you're Force-blocking me," she whispered accusingly into his ear.

"Leia…" Luke breathed in soft exasperation. He met her eyes. "I'll tell you tomorrow. Not today, OK?"

She held his gaze sternly for a moment, but then admitted defeat. "OK." 

"Glad to see ya, Luke!" Han exclaimed as he threw his arms around his young friend. He stepped back to inspect Luke up and down. "You clean up pretty good, kid!"

"So do you." Luke not only took note of Han's silk shirt (with conspicuously rolled-up sleeves), embroidered vest, velvet pants and the high, shiny boots they were tucked into, but also of his friend's utter embarrassment over the outfit. He tried to suppress his smirk. He failed. "New look for you, huh, Han?"

"Now don't you start with me, kid," Han warned with phony menace. "The second this circus is over, I'm changing right back into my blood stripes and my drinking shirt!"

"Which shirt would that be?" Luke inquired.

"ALL of them," Leia answered glibly, throwing a bemused glance sideways at her husband.

Just then, a young, slender, silver-haired woman came upon the trio, clutching a long, filmy white veil in her hand and wearing an expression of complete exasperation. "Leia," Winter admonished, taking in a deep calming breath, "The balcony ceremony and Rogue Group's air show is starting in just a few minutes! Will you PLEASE stop flittering around and let me finish dressing you?" She then shot her aggravated look toward Han. "And General Solo, Chewbacca absolutely refuses to come out of the fresher! I don't understand what he is saying, but from his tone, I gather he's not happy with his grooming!"

"Well, I TOLD you he wasn't going to like being poofed out like a noblewoman's pet felinx!" Han spat back. "He's a Wookiee, not a Nubian poodle!"

"HAN! WINTER! STOP!" Leia barked, raising her hands in a halting gesture. She turned to Han. "I'll get Chewie out of the fresher. He'll listen to me." She turned to her personal assistant Winter. "And while I'm doing that, you can put on my veil. All right?" Before either one could answer, Leia huffed and began to charge through the crowded ballroom with Winter, also huffing, close on her heels.

Han ran his hand through his hair as he turned back to Luke. "Are we having fun yet?" 

"I am," Luke answered, still donning his smirk. "Speaking of fun, where's Lando? I haven't seen him, is he coming?"

"He can't. He's down with the gort. No space travel for a month, or his glands will explode."

"Morumka virus? At his age?"

"Yeah." Han snorted a laugh through his nose. "He holoed me yesterday. You should see him, Luke—he looks like someone beat him with a gaffi stick."

Luke didn't want to laugh at his friend's misfortune, but he couldn't help being amused by the image of Lando boo-hooing the assault his good looks were obviously taking. "I'm sure he's quite upset."

"You don't know the half of it." Han returned the nod and wave of a guest he obviously didn't know before folding his arms and shooting his friend a sidelong glance. "So…when are you going to find a nice girl and put yourself through this hell?"

"Han, I'm a little busy rebuilding an ancient galactic order right now. That'll have to wait."

"Come on, kid," Solo groaned good-naturedly, glancing slyly. "You may be a Jedi, but you're not a monk. Something soft and pretty must have fired your engines by now."

"If you mean what I think you mean, the answer is no, Han."

Han raised his brows. "Seriously?" He let out an incredulous whistle. "Are you even interested in anyone?"

"No," Luke answered quickly and bluntly.

Han couldn't pass up the opportunity to jibe his young Jedi friend a bit. "I dunno…I can think of a certain Force-sensitive lady governor who would make an good match for you."

Luke's expression darkened even more as he cast his eyes to the floor. Han drew his brows together, feeling that he had obviously hit on something in the kid. Taking in a deep breath, Luke merely replied, "She's my student, Han, and my friend. And she's older than me."

"Yeah, by four whole years."

"Another fact you seem to be forgetting; she's taken."

"Taken? Pfft, yeah, by who? That armor-shelled, bounty hunting twerp scum of the universe? You and I both know she deserves better. Besides," he added, donning his famous crooked grin, "I saw the way you looked at her when we were all on Orri Prime."

"I don't want to talk about it."

Han shrugged. "She certainly has that effect on people, doesn't she? I mean, she did when I first met her a few years ago—hell, I couldn't get her off my mind for weeks. And Lando's mooning over her like—"

"I said I don't want to talk about her, Han." Luke repeated emphatically, this time with an edge of warning laced around his tone.

Han stiffened, and furrowed his brow. "Kid, what's up? What's the matter?"

Luke raised his crystal blue eyes to meet Han's hazel ones. "I…I can't tell you right now, Han," he said simply. "Let's just leave it at that."

"Sure, Luke," Han agreed softly, more concerned than hurt by Luke's behavior. Something was really bugging the kid, there was no question about that…

The awkward silence between them was interrupted by the fanfare struck up by the band. The crowd of guests parted away from the center of the ballroom as President Organa strolled toward Han and Luke, her long white veil pinned around her upswept, pearl-laden chestnut hair, and a sumptuous bouquet of pink and lavender Aldeeranii bridal orchids cascading over her arm.

All the tension, nervousness, insecurity, and dread concerning the public ceremony melted out of Han as he watched Leia glide toward him, an exquisite vision in white, smiling radiantly. The throng of guests seemed to agree with Han's appreciation, for a hum of gasps and whispers washed over the reception hall. Han stepped forward to greet his Princess. She slipped her small hand into his, and he brought it to his lips, never taking his eyes off her. The crowd's whispers escalated into applause and cheers.

Smiling broadly, he leaned into Leia's ear. "I stand corrected, your Worship. This was a good idea."

Leia said nothing, but merely shyly dropped her head, that pretty blush Han found so endearing rising again to warm her cheeks.

The couple suddenly found themselves unceremoniously grabbed by an arm and forcefully turned to face the staircase leading to the hall's grand balcony. "All right—your Excellency, General Solo, you'll step out first," ordered Winter. Like a silver-haired dervish, she nimbly spun around the couple to grab Luke and pulled him into his position. "General Skywalker, you'll flank behind the President. And Chewbacca… CHEWBACCA, please!" With absolutely no fear, the lithe young woman clamped her hands firmly on the arm of the newly shampooed, dried, combed, and all-around aggravated and embarrassed Wookiee lurking behind them and hoisted him into his position behind Han. "You'll flank behind General Solo." She turned and motioned to Admiral Ackbar and General Rieekan to come toward them.

Still holding Leia's hand, Han turned his head over his shoulder at his first mate. "Aw, come on, buddy! I don't know why you're so embarrassed. You look as pretty as a Arisand daisy." 

*Don't start with me, cub,* Chewbacca growled from deep within his throat. The growl instantly became a laced with what could only be described as humor as he glanced Han up and down. *By the way, did you ever get the name of the waiter you mugged for that outfit?* Leia clenched her lips and snorted a laugh through her nose; over the years, she had picked up enough Wookieese to understand Chewie most of the time.

Before Han could fire off a well-aimed retort, the massive glass doors atop the staircase swung open, and the hall was filled with the deafening cheers of hundreds of thousands of Coruscant citizens and tourists gathered on the streets below.

Leia took a deep breath, and squeezed Han's hand. "Ready, nerfherder?"

Han mimicked her breath and straightened himself up. "Lead on, your Holiness."

The couple, hand-in-hand, began to ascend the gleaming marble staircase in perfect step, the afternoon Coruscant sun silhouetting them against the sky of amber. As they came upon the final stair and walked out onto the enormous balcony, the cheers of the on-looking multitude exploded into the sky. 

Chewbacca stepped out next, albeit rather reluctantly, waving to the crowds with one paw while desperately trying to smooth down his fluffy pelt with the other. 

Then, just when everyone thought the crowd couldn't possibly get any louder, Luke Skywalker stepped forward. As he slowly, almost shyly, came along side Han and Leia, the very air seemed to detonate with the elated screams, whistles, and singing of the peoples below them on the airstreets and around them leaning out windows and over balconies. In addition to their joyful noise, the ecstatic masses waved homemade banners, flags, ribbons, and threw bouquets of flowers. From above, white petals snowed down on them, lightly tossed from the smaller balcony above by two lovely, cherub-faced little girls.

Luke smiled simply and waved dutifully if unenthusiastically to the cheering throng. Occasionally, he would glance over to Leia, who met his glances with a dazzling smile and a wink. The grip of guilt tightened in his gut; he felt ashamed that he was shielding himself from her, but…he absolutely would not cause her any worry or distress on this day.

As General Rieekan and Admiral Ackbar joined him on the balcony, he nodded to them almost absently, as his thoughts kept spiraling back to the eyes of a lovely young woman he saw mirrored in the hologram of his lost, beloved Master… 

* * *

The object of Luke's musing sat on a blanket in the middle of the clearing just south of her palace on Orri Prime, dealing with raging thoughts of her own.

I'Lai pulled at the wide brim of her sunhat, shielding the noon rays from her eyes as she took in a slow, deliberate breath. Eschewing the usual loose fitting yet elegant gowns she normally wore around the palace, she had changed into a waist-length wraparound crimson tunic and tan trousers that were tucked into soft, knee-hi suede boots. It was a mild day, with a soft breeze blowing down from the mountains, bringing drier, cooler air into the valley of her vast estate as well as the fragrance of the wildly blooming mountain flowers.

_Nikoa was right to suggest this,_ she thought,_ I needed some sun and fresh air_. _Perhaps this will calm my nerves a bit…_

But she found her thoughts trickling back to the holo-conversation earlier that morning with Luke, and she found her ire rising again. _Maybe I should come there, he says. For what?_ Involuntarily, she clenched her fist_. I swear, he treats me like some fragile, incompetent child! When are we going to further my training? I'm growing tired of levitating vases in the air! And when am I going to heal a real injury? He knows I can do more! I'm beginning to think he is jealous of me! I've already proven I can do things he can't, haven't I? Maybe I am stronger than Luke Skywalker…Maybe he is holding me back!_

_And now Leia is pregnant? _A bitter, sardonic smirk marred her lip. _Why doesn't that surprise me? She certainly wasted no time, did she? No, we certainly can't have a lowly concubine steal our glory, can we, Princess? I heard her voice on the comlink after the battle of Endor; I heard how peevish she sounded when Han was talking to me! She's jealous of me too! Jealous of my stature, my looks, my power…_Something very deep and very dark stirred within her as she trailed a fingertip slowly, almost seductively from her chin down her throat…_Han wanted me first, I could tell by the way he looked at me all those years ago…if things had been different, if I hadn't been so foolishly, blindly loyal to my dead master…I would have graced that handsome pirate's bed…and given him pleasure that he had never known before…_

She abruptly shut the thought down with a shocked gasp, and rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand. "By Force," she whispered raggedly, "how could I think such things…"

Her eyes snapped up when little Kai bellowed a happy baby yelp. Giving her a wide toothless grin, he reached toward her with both chubby arms "GAH!" he shrieked.

I'Lai smiled, thankful for the interruption. "What is it, sweet pea? Do you want something?" Her smile faded as she looked at her son, wearing his own floppy little sunhat, sitting up on the corner of the blanket. Kai had learned to sit up on his own. And Boba had missed it. _What else will he miss? His first steps? His first word? Is this the way it's going to be for the rest of Kai's life? For the rest of mine…? Gods, where is he?! Why won't he tell me?! Why won't he trust me?! _

She dropped her head down into her balled fists as she fought against the rage building up inside her once again._ No, stop it, stop it, I'Lai! This is not the time…play with Kai…_

She glanced around the blanket, picking up a little stuffed Ewok toy laying beside their picnic basket and showing it to Kai. "Do you want this, honey?" she sang-songed, dancing the toy back and forth in the air.

"BRAH!" Kai yelped again, holding forth his arms…

The toy Ewok suddenly became airborne, jumping out of I'Lai's hand and arcing lightly through the air right into the tiny hands of the giggling baby boy.

I'Lai's jaw dropped as she attempted to compute what had just happened. "Kai…" she stammered, "did you just…?" She instantly sprang to her feet and scooped Kai up, holding him above her head as she spun around. "Kai, you used the Force! You used the Force…" Her laughter began bright and musical, but soon escalated into peals of glee laced with the disturbing tinkle of madness…

"You are powerful, aren't you, my son?" she whispered breathlessly, boring her eyes into his of the same hue. Kai suckled on the cloth hood of the Ewok toy, but stared over the toy into his mother's eyes with the same intensity. I'Lai fell to her knees and carefully sank onto her back, cradling Kai to her breast. She stared into the cloudless azure sky. "We don't need them, do we, Kai? We don't need any of them…" She lifted Kai off her chest, holding him in front of her eyes. "Just you and me, right?" She lowered him back to her chest, stroking his little head, her eyes rolling back into her head, repeating herself over and over in a low, breathy mantra, "Just our power alone…just _us_…just _all_ of us…"

………………

_Yes, beloved…all of us…_

His entire body shook with the sheer intensity of the power he pulled into himself. A thin sheen of sweat glistened over his tattooed skin. Even after the decades of practice, the shielding, the energy manipulation, the astral projection, and all the other aspects of his dark craft caused him to quake…

Naked and kneeling on the jutting platform of the black, bottomless cavern, he clasped his hands above his horned head, setting the vision in his mind's eye and rasping the words, over and over…

"Sei'ta eussna tiaama di ne…Kun eussna tiaama uta'na i'lai…naashaa…naashaa…"

The vision of his Sith Infiltrator sharpened clearly in his mind. He shook and trembled even more violently as he ignited the engines with the brutal force of his will. He watched it lift from its bay, the repulsor exhaust blowing the black sand around it into vicious funnels.

_Bring them to me._

The ship rotated in the air, its spherical nose ascending toward the blood red sky. The engines glowed from iced blue into crisp scarlet…

He snapped his body up and threw his fists down, a low, masculine scream bursting from his throat—

And the ship ripped into the red sky, exploding out of the stratosphere and immediately jumping into hyperspace toward its destination, Orri Prime.

He fell back onto the cold stone slab, his painted chest heaving with every hard-fought breath. He closed his eyes, and prepared to witness the pageant unfold, now that the players were all in place…

* * *

"Sir," announced Captain Rhys from the bridge's navigational console, "we are coming out of atmosphere."

"Give order," Admiral Pellaeon ordered, still focused on the viewscreen.

Rhys nodded, and repeated the order through the comlink.

That order, words and voice disintegrated into nothing more than electronic signals, crackled and danced through the ions of the _Imprimatur _to settle directly into the earpiece of an adrenaline and ryll-hyped Bothan.

"WE GOT THE SIGNAL!" Jober roared from his pilot's seat.

Czethros slammed his fist into the arm of his captain's chair. "Let's start this party, boys! MOVE OUT!"

The explosion from the _Dama Fortuna's_ thrusters as she shrieked out of the _Imprimatur's _ventral bay could only be rivaled by the uproarious fervor of Czethros's three-dozen mercenaries onboard. With armor on their backs, blasters in their grips and ryll in their blood, the nefarious crew of aliens and humans whet their anticipation for conquest by hurling each other into the bulkhead within the hold, cracking their skulls together in bouts of head-butting, howling like beasts descending on a fresh kill, and passing around loaded hypos of ryll. The friction of the gaseous atmosphere crackled around the hull as they hurled out into black space…

"Will you all shut the fuck up!" Czethros barked. "Gods, a man can't hear himself think…"

"We're coming up on coordinates, sir," Jober informed. 

"Kill engines, and put out signal." Czethros, dressed in his custom-tailored black leather flak suit, motioned to Trodeccu the one-eyed Wookiee to come closer. "Go get Thutchen."

Trodeccu's lips curled in a malicious smirk as he bowed his charcoal-hued head and lumbered through the ongoing chaos toward the storage bin where Burl Thutchen was being kept. 

………………

"Green Five to Green Leader, do you copy?"

The X-wing pilot known as Green Leader hit his com. "Copy, Green Five. What is it?"

"Sir, I'm getting a distress signal! Seems to be coming just shy of the Orri Omega gravitational pull."

Green Leader knit his brow. "Sensors picking up anything?"

"Negative, sir. The atmosphere may be interring with the readings. Permission to check it out?"

"Permission granted. Green Two, accompany Green Five and report."

"Right-O, sir, " Green Two chattered her acknowledgement, veering her X-wing in a graceful arc to follow her fellow pilot toward the hulking gas giant known as Orri Omega and leaving the other three X-wings now orbiting Orri Prime…

………………..

"Friend Thutchen! Glad to have you back with us!" Czethros bellowed heartily as Trodeccu pushed a very bleary-eyed Burl through the armor-geared crew of mercs onto the bridge.

Squinting, Burl raised a hand to his head still throbbing from the after-effects of the powerful sedative he'd been given. "Where… where are we?" he mumbled.

Czethros rose from his chair and stepped onto the floor. "We're bringing you home, son! Just as I promised." As he stepped toward the groggy miner, he placed a leather-gloved hand upon his shoulder, and sighed insincerely. "Alas, as much as I have enjoyed your company these past few weeks, it is time for us to part ways. I certainly hope you have enjoyed yourself but, as they say, all good things must come to an end…"

Burl's vision cleared enough for him to notice the armor everyone was wearing, and the blasters, autocannons, and other various weaponry strapped to their arms, backs, and thighs. A feeling of sick began to rise in his gullet as the realization began to take hold of his mind… "No…NO!" Pushing Czethros's hand away, he stumbled toward the viewport. There, slightly off the arced curve of the red-hued gas giant known as Orri Omega, he saw Orri Prime glimmering tranquilly off in the black distance.

He spun around, mouth agape, limbs shaking, and hands clenching into fists. "NO!" he shouted hoarsely at Czethros. "You promised! You said you wouldn't hurt her! You said if I told you everything I knew about Boba Fett, you wouldn't hurt Lady I'Lai!"

A dubious sneer formed from under Czethros's bionic visor, and his voice practically bubbled with incredulous laughter when he replied, "I lied, Burl." The menacing guffaws of the killers surrounding him joined in his growing laughter.

The illness that had started to turn Burl's stomach was replaced by nothing less than raw rage. His fear slipped away, and every muscle in his bulking body ignited—and with the speed of a man half his size, Burl suddenly lurched forward and, before any of the mercs could stop him, grabbed Czethros by his throat and thrust him off the floor, screaming, "You won't touch her! I'll kill you, you son of a whore! You leave them alone! LEAVE THEM ALONE!"

Dangling in the air and choking for breath, Czethros grabbed at Burl's meaty hands, furiously kicking at the miner's legs and belly. In his rage, Burl felt none of the kicks as his hands squeezed even tighter around Czethros's throat—

Nor did he hear Splitter the Snivvian race up behind him. Launching himself from the deck, the small alien landed on Burl's back, grabbing a handful of his hair and, with a bone-numbing screech, drove the tip of his vibro-blade deep into Burl's throat and sliced it across.

Blood spewed out of the wound and down Burl's throat. He fought to maintain his grip on Czethros, but to no avail. Gurgling and fighting to breathe, Burl released his death grip and sank to his knees, bringing a hand to his neck. Czethros stumbled back, catching himself on his chair and gulping in mouthfuls of precious air. Sinking even further toward the deck, Burl bowed his head as the tears sprang from his eyes. "Oh gods, what have I done…" he sobbed quietly between hacking coughs strewn with blood and spittle. His head spinning, blood cascading down his shirt… "I'm so sorry, Lady…" 

Having regained his breath, Czethros gritted his teeth, lunged forward, and mercilessly kicked Burl in the face. Burl careened onto his back and landed with a THUD, the tears still streaming from his eyes as he felt his life ebb away.

In rage, Czethros's spun around toward Trodeccu. "Get this piece of shit off my ship! SPACE HIM!"

Ca'ckalo the Aqualish sprang out of the co-pilot's chair to grab Burl's arm while Trodeccu grabbed the other. Roughly, they pulled the near-dead miner through the ship to the hold, where they opened an airlock, hurled him into it, closed the hatch, and pulled the release lever.

………….. 

Pellaeon watched the X-wings grab the bait. Snapping his head toward his captain, he barked, "Launch destructor drones now!"

"Yes sir!" Rhys barked into the com, "Launch destructor drones!"

From out of the miniscule silos punched into the hull of the ship spewed dozens of tiny, black, oval-shaped droids measuring less than a meter apiece. Hurling directionless at first, they suddenly all sparked their tiny engines at once and began to pair up in the blackness of space—the pairs then shot forward toward Orri Prime's stratosphere…

…………….

As the two X-wings flew closer to Orri Omega, Green Two checked her sensors. "Green Five, I'm picking something up here…this is weird…it's coming up bio-organic."

"What? Lock on it, and get in closer, Green Two. See anything?"

Green Two switched her attention from the sensor screen to her viewport, squinting slightly. "Yeah, I see something…getting in closer…" The pale speck floating in the blackness before her grew larger and identifiable in her window, and her eyes widened in horror as she hit the com again. "Green Five, it's a BODY! Human, male!"

"Green Two, attempt to retrieve! I'm coming up on the ship, opening hailing frequency…" 

…………..

Czethros leaned against the back of Jober's pilot seat, intensely watching the lone X-wing draw near. Jober watched as well, his grip shaking just slightly in anticipation as he clutched the cannon control…

Green Five's voice crackled over the com. "Vessel, this is Lieutenant Crill of Orri Prime Planetary Security. Are you in need of assistance? Respond." 

"That's it," Czethros whispered, "just a little closer…"

"I repeat, this is Lieutenant Crill of Orri Prime. Do you need assistance…?"

The blip representing the X-wing on the targeting sensor drifted into firing range—

"Jober, NOW!"

Jober's itchy trigger digit finally found relief. With a sharp pull of the trigger, the _Dama Fortuna's _two belly-mounted cannons hummed and whirred and launched two proton torpedoes. Green Five never had a chance to respond before the first torpedo ripped through the nose section while the second blasted through the engines.

The resplendent explosion flared through Green Two's portside view. "CRILL!" she screamed, banking her X-wing hard and racing toward what was left of her comrade. She slammed the com in her helmet with her palm. "Green Leader! We are under attack! Crill's been taken out—"

"Copy, Green Two! We're on our way!" Green Leader's voice crackled through the com just as Green Two came upon the Dama Fortuna's starboard side…

"TAKE HER OUT!" Czethros ordered.

Upon hearing the command from his seat in the top-mounted gunner, Splitter ran his dark tongue across his broad fangs and hit the trigger—

And the red laser hit directly under the X-wing's pilot's seat, exploding the craft into jagged chunks of metal, plasteel, and cables.

A malicious cheer broke throughout the vessel as Czethros plopped himself into his chair. "Jober, take her in!"

Jober hit the thrusters, and the _Dama Fortuna_ broke forward at full sub-light speed toward the three X-wings hurling toward them…

………………

The Imprimatur's navigator spun his chair to face Admiral Pellaeon. "Sir, we've cleared atmosphere!"

Simultaneously, Captain Rhys announced, "The _Dama Fortuna_ has engaged, sir! Two direct hits! Remaining X-wings en route!"

Pellaeon stepped off the viewport dais and strode toward Rhys at the command console. "Take us into Orri Prime orbit! Launch first wave TIES now!"

"Yes, sir!" 

As Rhys repeated his order to the launch bays, Pellaeon turned his attention to the tactical officers guiding the destructor drones. "Lock drones on targets and engage beams!"

………………

"It's coming at us, sir!" Green Four shouted through the com. "Correllian D-6, modified, top and bottom mounts!"

"Four, keep 'em in your field! Three, get around their bow and target engines! I got 'em from the front—"

"Kiernan!" shrieked Green Three through the com, "Starboard side, Imperial TIES coming straight at us!"

And thus the first squadron of TIE fighters, scores of them, sleek and deadly and all too familiar to any Alliance X-wing pilot, spewed forth from out of the _Imprimatur_, careening around Orri Theta's second moon. They sliced like blades of vengeance through the black void, some spiraling toward the sphere of Orri Prime while thirty more surrounded and descended upon the three hapless X-wings…

"SITH!" exclaimed Green Leader, "It's a trap!" 

He pulled up hard on his ship's controls, arcing the nose straight up as he hit the thrusters with his foot and the com with his other hand. "Green Five, Green Two, move out, move out! Don't take them on!"

"Kier, there's too many—I can't—AAAGGGHHH!"

The crisp silhouettes of the oncoming TIE fighters flashed briefly against the explosion of Green Three's X-wing that flashed into Green Leader's rear view.

Green Leader banked the throttle down hard as the TIES' lasers sparked all across his viewport, only to find four more TIE fighters coming in directly below him. He was done for. "Green Leader to Ground Control! Green Leader to Ground Control! We are under attack! We are under —"

Green Leader's last signal crackled through black space just as his X-wing disintegrated under the barrage of Imperial fire, making its way to the com satellite that would alert Ground Control…

That signal, like Green Leader himself, was doomed.

The first pair of sleek destructor drones came up upon the satellite, they widening the space between them, allowing enough room for the satellite to slide in. Even before they had reached their mark, an concentrated ray of white-hot yellow energy shot from each side of the drones and, as they made their pass on either side of the satellite, blew it with a brilliant white explosion into space junk.

All around the globe, the dozens of other pairs of destructor drones made their way to attack all the other surveillance and communication satellites that dotted Orri Prime's orbit in the same manner…

………….

The words, "We are under—" sparked through the speaker before they were zapped into nothing but static.

Ralan Stitz stepped out into the corridor from the break room, two steaming mugs of caf in his hands, just as Lando Calrissian came through the front entrance of The Southern Hem Security HQ.

"One of those better be for me," Lando grumbled.

"But of course, Baron." Stitz raised one of the mugs toward his commanding officer, trying unsuccessfully to squash the amused smirk spreading across his mouth upon seeing Lando's swollen jowls and throat.

Irritably, Lando snatched the mug from his hand. "Don't start, Stitz."

Stitz raised his brows in feigned innocence. "Sir?" With that, he could no longer hold his humor, and a snorting giggle escaped his nose. 

Lando rolled his eyes and stomped down the hall toward the Con Center, with Stitz immediately flanking his left. "Status?"

"Nothing to report. All clear so far, sir."

Lando turned into the Com Center's door and strode toward the door of his office when he glanced up at the surveillance screens. "Are you aware that S-Three is out?" he muttered as he entered his door.

"It is?" Stitz walked toward the console and, just as he was about to adjust the satellite's controls, another viewer suddenly sparked into static. He knit his brow. "S-12 just went out too."

Lando was just about to seat himself when he stopped in mid-motion. Concerned, he came back around the desk, re-entering the Com Center. "What's going on? Meteor shower?"

"I'll check." Stitz turned to the sensor screen "Sir, sensor's not picking up anything," he said, worried. Just at that moment, three more viewers zapped out.

"What the hell…?" Lando breathed, dread beginning to creep up his spine. "Get Green Leader on com."

"Yes, sir." Stitz jumped into his chair, sticking his earpiece in with one hand while hitting the com with the other. "Green Leader, this is Ground Control, do you copy?" He waited for a few seconds before repeating, "Green Leader, do you copy?" Still nothing. "Hello? Anyone…?"

Meanwhile, Lando furiously manipulated the controls of the remaining satellites, trying to get a clear view of the system's activities. His eyes darted back and forth across the remaining screens, until his attention focused solely on one screen. There, he saw the trademark wing panel of a TIE fighter skim across the screen—

"GOS AND HELLS!" he shouted, "IMPERIALS!"

"But sir, that's impossible! Green Squadron would have surely reported it—"

"And where's Green Squadron now, Ralan? Have they answered your hails?" Lando ran a furious hand through his hair, and clenched his jaw. "They're dead." He shot his glance back up to the screen he had just viewed, only to see that one give out, too. "What the hell weapons are they using that they don't show up on the sensors…?"

………….

"Coming up on the third moon now, Boss," Jober barked.

"Jober, get in front of that satellite before the drones take it out," Czethros ordered, a mischievous smirk playing across his lips.

Jober grimaced. "Pellaeon's not gonna like this, Boss—"

"FUCK PELLAEON" the Supreme Vigo roared. "Just do it!"

With a roll of his eyes Jober obeyed, cutting a path in front of the oncoming drones…

Czethros leapt from his chair as he bellowed, "FLY THE COLORS!"

Ca'ckalo punched the control on the console, and the holographic image shot out of the projector mounted just below the top gun, hitting the satellite's cam directly in the lens…

……………

Pellaeon slammed his fist into the navigational console as he watched the Dama Fortuna on the viewscreen. "Gods dammit, what the hell does he think he's doing! He's just alerted their security forces! Now they know we're here!" Realizing he was about to lose control, the Admiral straightened himself up and took in a deep breath. "Captain Rhys."

Rhys snapped to attention beside him. "Sir!"

Tugging his jacket down by the hem, Pellaeon turned to his officer. "When Czethros has handed over the traitor Lady I'Lai," he commanded with a sharp undertone of malice in his hushed tone, "you will bring him to my ready room…where I will have the distinct pleasure of executing him MYSELF."

……………….

The hologram projected from the Dama Fortuna showed bright and clear in the one of the three remaining working viewscreens; a brilliant graphic displayed against the cold black of space, the hologram depicted a solid circle surrounded by another circle, barbed with points that reached out like the rays of a sun…

The color drained from Lando's face as he glared at the hologram. "You sons of bitches," he growled dangerously, his fist clenching tighter with every passing second. "You teamed up, didn't you? You couldn't do it alone, so you teamed up!"

Breathless and unnerved by Lando's reaction, Stitz carefully asked, "Sir, what is it?"

"It's not just the Empire, Ralan," Lando replied, breathless. "It's Black Sun."

"Black Sun?!" Stitz repeated, aghast. "The crime syndicate?"

Leaning against his outstretched hands on the console, Lando bowed his head and closed his eyes. Green Squadron was gone, undoubtedly blasted into oblivion by gods knew how many TIEs were up there. All their surveillance satellites were being destroyed by something that didn't show up on their sensors. And now after seeing the Black Sun coat of arms, he was beginning to understand why those plasma generator parts had never shown up. He wiped the sweat forming off his upper lip. "Looks like we're in for one hell of a fight. Stitz, sound the alarm! Battle stations! I'm calling Coruscant!"

"Yes sir!" Stitz hit the alarm switch with one hand while grabbing the large mic from the console. "All militia personnel, battle stations! Battle Stations! This is not a drill! Repeat, this is not a drill! All militia personnel…" he repeated over and over again.

………………

The call went out through the speakers of Southern Hem HQ and beyond. The cry to battle broadcast across the planet surface and into loud speakers in the public squares and into every comlink carried by all the volunteer militia across Orri Prime.

At first, a strange, eerie hush fell over the planet as every oldster paused their chess game, as every teacher halted their school lessons, as every miner stopped their drilling, and every shopkeeper and café worker stopped their work. The security squad commanders lowered their mugs of caf and turned away from the holonets. Almost in unison all across the globe, every head turned toward the nearest speaker that blared Stitz's voice loud and firm…

"Battle stations! All militia personnel! This is not a drill! Repeat, this is not a drill—"

And, all at once, the entire populace broke out in pandemonium.

Stitz's voice continued to blare instructions over the planet. "All personnel report immediately to your assigned posts! All gunners report immediately to cannon platforms! All pilots report to your local port! You will receive further instructions from your commanders upon arrival! All citizens unable to fight will immediately evacuate your homes and go into the underground shelters—"

The squad commanders all jumped from their seats and their bunks. Miners stopped their drilling and dropped their equipment, rushing the mineshafts and the lifts to pour out onto the surface by the hundreds. Mechanics in the ports and space docks rushed to fuel and repair any and all ships that could be used for combat as well as landspeeders to transport the militia to their posts. Schoolteachers hurriedly ushered all the pupils out of the classrooms and into specially designated shelters underground: The same was done for the elderly and disabled outside in the towns by the shopkeepers who had been specially trained for such a situation. People in their homes immediately scrambled to the arms cabinets and pulled out blasters and helmets for themselves and their spouses, their sons, their daughters…

Thousands of beings, alien and non, male and female, old and young, poured into hundreds of ore transports now being used to rush them to their posts. Still more transports raced through the streets of the townships, collecting weapons from the frantic citizens handing them out, to take them to their soldiers…

Yes, all on the surface of Orri Prime was preparing themselves for battle: Everyone, except those in I'Lai's palace…

……………….

With her hands tucked in her voluminous sleeves, Nikoa greeted the passing guards, housekeepers, cooks, and other various palace staff with her familiar warm smile and friendly winks as she serenely traveled the white luminous corridors on her way to her quarters.

She chirped one last friendly hello to an appliance maintenance mechanic on his way to the palace kitchen before sliding into her chamber and closing the door. Once inside, she drew her hands from her sleeves. Raising her hand to her aged blackish-brown eyes, she smiled softly as she perused the small transistor she had just ripped out of the palace's com system, playing with the wires that dangled from it with her fingertips…

……………….

"Come on, COME ON!" Lando roared, beating his fist against the holograph and frantically flicking all the console switches. "Work, damn it, go!"

"Sir," said Stitz quietly, his face twisted into a despaired grimace, "It's no use. They've taken out the interstellar satellites as well."

"So we can't even get backup. We're mute and blind." He sat against the console, furiously rubbing his eyes. _Think, Calrissian, think! _ He looked up, staring intensely at the far wall. "The only thing we have right now are the deflector shields. They'll at least keep them at bay for a while."

"Baron, can the Imps break through them?"

Lando shook his head. "Not likely. The main shield generator is two hundred meters under Heavens Brace in the Northern Hem." He chuckled bitterly, in spite of the dire situation. "They'd have to pull some kind of technical magic out of their thrusters to get to it!" 

……………….

Aboard the _Imprimatur,_ that devastating "magic" was about to be performed…

The navigator turned toward Pellaeon. "Admiral, we are in Orri Prime's perimeter."

"Scan the shields. Captain, order Squadron Leaders to orbit designated land targets and stand by for attack order. Second TIE wave in bay, stand by."

"Yes, sir."

The navigator scanned the green graph signifying Orri Prime's shield intensely, and pointed at the wider gaps within the graph. "Shield origin appears to be somewhere in the Northern Hem. Scanners showing weakest shielding here, at the equator." 

"That's our mark. Transfer data to Tactical Station." With hands clasped behind his back, Pellaeon strode across the bridge to the weapons console pit. The data the navigator had just transferred blared from their screens. Coming up on the edge of the pit behind one of the black-clad Imperial officers, he asked, "Are they ready?"

"Deflector Shield Seeker Drones are armed and ready, sir."

The Admiral turned and glanced at his Captain, who returned his look with wary hope. The small destructor drones had proven themselves effective and volatile weapons: Now, it was time to engage in the first practical testing of the Maw Installation's newest creation…

Pellaeon breathed deeply, and then commanded, "Target deflector shield break." The red laser target danced across the electronic display of Orri Prime's shield before settling and blinking onto the intended target…

"Fire."

With a turn of a plasteel key, the new DSSDs were launched.

Four identical black, slick missiles erupted from the angled stern of the I_mprimatur_. Each five meters in length and only thirty centimeters wide, they shot through the blackness of space, angling in perfect unison toward the atmosphere and their intended gateway, the small breaks in Orri Prime's deflector shields. 

The gaps were far too small to safely allow a ship through them, and laser fire or proton torpedoes would merely bounce off the light-particle mesh of the shield, but the long, narrow DSSDs were designed to easily slide in between the graph's gaps, and they did exactly that. Once they had slid through the shield's gaps, the four missiles broke their formation and followed their individual paths north, south, east, and west, the friction of the atmosphere sizzling against their coned noses, their implanted homing chips scanning for the deflector shield's electronic signature…

The northern bound missile picked up the electronic trail first, honing in and hailing its three companions to its location. Simultaneously, the three other missiles veered from their paths and sliced through the azure Orri Prime sky to join it as it headed toward the massive twin-spired rock formation the natives called Heavens Brace. The missiles sped toward each other, the planet's surface blurring into a montage of green, grey, and blue beneath them as they seemed about to collide—

Only ten meters apart from each, the missiles' nosecones suddenly pulled straight up into the sky, and together they performed an elegant vertical clover up, around, and then down into the valley between Heavens Brace's peaks, where the deflector shield power dish was located.

Just meters from the ground, the nosecones broke away, revealing three blaster barrel-like devices which shot a thirty-centimeter wide laser directly into the earth, blasting holes at each corner of the dish platform, just wide enough for their long, sleek bodies to fit…

As the four missiles slid into the blasted terrain as easily as fingers slid into rings, their laser systems continued to cut their paths deep underground, their powerful repulsor engines pushing them further and further into the earth until they had found the shield's central power core.

From within each missile, a small nuclear generator began to resonate. The violent vibrations coming off each missile caused the bedrock around them to heat, crack and split. The noses of the missiles glowed deeper and more intensely with every passing second as their nuclear generators reached maximum density, and then blew—

The explosion of the core blew straight up through the main power conduit toward the surface, vomiting speeder-sized chunks of melted metal, searing bedrock, and white flames up out of the ground and into the sky. The sheer force of the blast actually caused the foundation of Heavens Brace to quake, and huge crags of rock began sliding off the side of the mountains, crashing into the land below…

………………..

"Direct hit, Admiral! Shields are DOWN!"

Cheers tore through the bridge of the Imprimatur as Pellaeon's chest swelled with victory. 

"Give order! Second wave TIES, now! Bring us in! ENGAGE!!"

………………….

"No…" Stitz choked as he watched the graph of the deflector shield dissipate into nothingness on the one remaining working screen on the security console. "It's not possible…NO! NO!" He slammed his fists into the console before tearing from his chair and racing out into the corridor, where Lando was fervently giving final instructions the squad commanders…

"Lando!" he cried, bracing himself in the door jamb, "They've taken out the shield!"

Lando spun toward Stitz as all the other commanders gasped and exclaimed in horror and shock. "What! No, no! That generator is two hundred meters underground—"

"Sir, they did it! See for yourself! It's gone!" He took a ragged breath as he fought the tears beginning to well in his young eyes. "We're wide open."

For a brief moment Lando, Stitz, and the band of commanders stood in stunned and unnerved silence. Suddenly, Lando snapped himself out of his panicked trance and spun around. "Well, what are you waiting for?! Move out! MOVE!" He physically pushed several of them down the corridor. "Get to your ships! Man the cannon platforms! Let's go!" 

As soon as the commanders had raced out the front door, Lando turned and ran back into his office, Stitz following close behind him. One there, he grabbed the keys to the weapons cabinet out of his desk and opened the lock, grabbing a hand blaster and a rifle. "Ralan, get yourself geared up," he ordered breathily, lobbing the rifle to him. He stopped for a brief second, running his sleeve across his eyes. "We're on our own here, so we might as well give them the best fight we can."

"Sir, I have an idea."

Lando cocked his head over his shoulder. "What is it?"

Stitz swallowed hard, and then blurted, "I can fly just outside the planetary perimeter, and you can broadcast to Coruscant with your comlink through me. It would only be an audio message, but it's better than nothing."

Still pulling weapons, Lando hastily waved his hand. "No way, Stitz! You'll be shot down in seconds—"

"Seconds are all we'll need, sir. Just enough time to get the message out—"

"Ralan, I can't ask you to do this—"

"Sir," Stitz interjected firmly, "we don't have a CHOICE!" Lando turned out of the cabinet, meeting Stitz's eyes. "We need the Fleet, sir. Without them we're all dead."

Lando stood, panting breathlessly. Stitz was right—he had no choice but to send him out… "All right, go, GO!" As Stitz turned to race from the room, Lando grabbed the arm of his young assistant. With a look of utter despair mixed with his deepest respect, he whispered, "May the Force be with you, Ralan."

Stitz in turn put his hand on his commander's and somberly replied, "It's been an honor and a privilege, Baron Calrissian." 

The two men embraced swiftly and robustly, then Lando pushed him away. "Go, now, get up there!" 

Stitz ran down the granite corridor, crashing through the back entrance doors with his shoulder toward the headquarters' landing dock. Yelling at and waving off the technicians in his way, he tore toward his personal Z-95 Headhunter and jumped onto the wing, not even bothering to use the ladder. He leapt into the pilot's seat and, just as the hatch began to close, stole a quick, anguished glance at the swarms of TIE fighters already making their descent…

With a pull of the ignition and a yank of the throttle, the Headhunter was lifted off the bay floor and hurled into the atmosphere. Ralan Stitz looked over his shoulder and gave Southern Hem Security Headquarters one final look, knowing in his gut that he would not be returning. 

………………….

"CZETHROS! SHEILDS ARE DOWN!"

Czethros leapt from his chair. "Jober, Ca'ckalo, get in the Snipers! Splitter, take the helm!"

As his armored henchman howled and sprinted to their appointed positions, Czethros grabbed the comlink at the side of this chair and addressed the rest of the mercenary crew throughout the ship. "This is it, boys! We're goin' in! NO MERCY!"

The onslaught of shrieks, howls, whistles, and roars tore through the ship and threatened to crack its very hull as Jober and Ca'ckalo slid through the airlocks into their one-man speeder-fighters, Splitter forced the throttle downward, and the Dama Fortuna ripped into Orri Prime's atmosphere, shrieking toward the Governor's Palace…

…………………….

The massive quakes of the deflector shield's explosion convulsed through the terrain, all the way to the clearing where I'Lai still lay on her back, Kai resting on her chest…

I'Lai's eyes flew open and, still holding Kai close to her breast, snapped herself up from her blanket and spun around just as at the majestic peaks of Heavens Brace crashed to the ground.

She gawked at the massive clouds of dust pluming into the air all around the peaks. All earlier feelings of anger and betrayal vanished, only to be replaced by confusion and shock…but before she could even begin to understand what had happened to the humungous rock formation, she looked up into the sky, past the plumes of Heavens Brace's destruction…

She rose to her feet as she saw hundreds of tiny black dots soaring high above, breaking off into formations of twenty or so, going east, west, south, growing ever larger as the seconds passed. Dread began to knot in her stomach, and the Force shrieked all around her as she realized what the dots actually were…

She noticed three black shapes in particular, one larger than the other two, as they broke off from the rest and seemed to be racing in her direction, disappearing briefly behind cloud of dust and earth before appearing again, even closer and coming in fast. As the black shapes moved in, she could see the sun glint off their black metal hulls, and recognized the planes jutting off their sides as wing thrusters…

I'Lai was frozen where she stood, too terrified to move. Clutching Kai to her chest, one word formed on her lips, in her mind, and in her heart…

"Boba…"

……………………

"So den," Watto snickered from his place at the center table of his shop, barely able to contain his mirth, "De Fellenetian waiter says to the Celegian, 'I don't serve dinner to cabbages—I serve cabbage wit dinner!" With that, Watto howled with laughter, beating his small fist into the tabletop. He glanced with watering eyes toward Boba Fett seated at the worktable. "Get it? 'I don't serve dinner to cabbages—"

"I get it, Watto," Fett answered dully as he soldered the last connection in his jetpack.

"Den why ain't ju laughing?" Fett's only response was a lift of his ebon-eyed glare from his work to the Toydarian seated on the tabletop. He still wore the faded gray headwrap, but had taken off the opaque goggles for better sight of his intricate work. Watto huffed. "What, din't ju tink dat was funny? Dat's my best joke!"

Finishing the solder, Fett switched off the rod and tilted the jetpack up "Don't quit your day job."

Watto scowled. "Ju should laugh more, Boba Fett. Ju too serious." A little chime sounded from the shop's kitchen, and he jumped off the table and flapped toward the curtain, still grumbling under his breath. "Ju a young man, and ju so tense! Ju need to relax a little…"

As Watto still griped and banged around in the kitchen, Fett raised a hand to his eyes and rubbed. _Must be bad light in here,_ he thought to himself, _I'm starting to see things…_but the rubbing didn't alleviate the images forming in front of his eyes. Instead they grew stronger, clearer…ships…three of them…the first, definitely Corellian-class…the other two, Kuat Sniper-class one-man terrain fighters slicing through a cerulean sky, coming closer…

fear, confusion…smoke, dust…whirling around in his head…

what the hell…

someone in trouble…someone …_I'Lai_…_Kai_…

_Boba_…help…_help…_

"Ah, now DIS is good!" Watto pushed the kitchen curtain open with his arm as he flapped back into the shop, two steaming bowls clutched in each hand. "Rengalini stew!" Flying over to Fett, he set a bowl down. "Try it, it good! Better dan dose stupid amino packs and ration bars ju always eating!" He flew to his table, setting himself down and pulling a spoon from his shop apron, digging in. He had swallowed a couple bites before asking, "Wat ju tink? Good, jes?" When he received no answer, Watto glanced up at Fett, who hadn't touched his bowl. "Wat da matter? Ju not hungry?" 

Again, Fett said nothing, did nothing but sit deadly still, barely breathing, staring glassy-eyed straight ahead. Setting his bowl down, Watto pushed himself off the table and moved toward the entranced bounty hunter. "Fett, ju OK? Fett?" He waved his wiry hand in front of Fett's eyes; he didn't even blink. "Ello? Fett…?"

"Run," Fett whispered hoarsely.

Watto knit his brow. "Ju say sumting?"

"Run!" he repeated, louder this time. Still staring straight ahead, his breathing quickened. "Save the baby! Get back to the palace!" Fett suddenly leapt to his feet, and banged his fist against the table as he shouted. "I'LAI, _RUN_!"

…………………..

_I'Lai, RUN! RUN!_

Boba's voice screamed through I'Lai's mind, snapping her out of her frozen terror. The two small, black Sniper crafts came careening toward her while the _Dama Fortuna_ roared above her head on its way to her palace.

Panicked, she dove toward the soft baby sling on the blanket and frantically wrapped it around Kai and herself, bracing him to her body…

"Hey, Jober," croaked Ca'ckalo the Aqualish through their com, "Down there, in that clearing. See her?"

In his pilot's seat, Jober shot a glance through his viewport at the small figure of the woman on the blanket, hurriedly trying to gather her baby to her. "Yeah, I see her, So?"

Flicking his long tongue over his vertical lip sacs, Ca'ckalo flicked the casing lid off the stick of his turbolaser with his thumb. "How 'bout a little target practice before we hit the palace, huh?" he cackled.

Jober's lip curled up in an amused snarl. "Sure, why not—" His snarl, however melted just the gust from their engines blew the woman's large sunhat off her head, blowing her long, lustrous black hair about her face and shoulders. When the woman turned her frightened glance up over her shoulder, he instantly recognized her oval face and sparkling teal eyes— "Cack, you fuckin' idiot, hold your fire! That's her! That's FETT'S WOMAN!"

Jober saw the woman jump to her feet and, clutching the baby close to her, start to run to the wooded glen that grew between the meadow and the palace. "Get in front of her!"

Ca'ckalo hit the thrusters and dipped his fighter's nose down, sending the ship to swerve around and halt just meters from her, cutting her off from her path of escape.

I'Lai screamed and fell back onto the ground as the speeder craft loomed menacingly in front of her. With one arm secured firmly around Kai, she scrambled to her feet and spun around—only to see the second craft looming just above and behind her…

From his angle in the air, Jober could now see every detail of I'Lai's beauty in face and body. Her crimson tunic had slipped slightly off her shoulder, giving the Bothan a tantalizing view of the top swell of her creamy breast. His blood began to heat, and a thin stream of saliva dripped from his bared fangs. "Come on, Pretty," he growled low in his throat, his loins tensing as he held the beautiful human female in his glare, "Don't you want to play…?"

With the Snipers cutting her off from behind and front, I'Lai manically sprinted sideways toward the thick woods surrounding the meadow—

Only to have Ca'ckalo race in front of her and set the woods on fire.

A blazing pillar of flame blasted from the craft into the ancient trees, igniting them instantly, evacuating the birds that nested in them screeching toward the sky. Again I'Lai screamed, crouching to the ground and covering Kai's head with her hair. Veering the Sniper in a semi-circle, Ca'ckalo laughed viciously as he triggered the flamethrower again, setting the entire wood leading to the palace ablaze.

I'Lai staggered to her feet, backing away from the wall of fire just meters before her, fighting to breathe through the smoke and heat as the black-plated snipers circled lower and lower around her…

"Help," she whimpered, her eyes huge and terrified as they darted back and forth between the surrounding crafts and the blazing woods. She jerked her head up to see the unmistakable wedge of a Star Destroyer high above, dropping TIE Interceptors and Bombers as well as shuttles out of its bay…

She fell to her knees in the grass, and huge tears fell from her eyes as she lowered her head over Kai's. "Please…anyone…help us…please…"

…………………….

Leia squealed in delight and clutched Han's arm as she watched Rogue Group perform the grand finale to their outstanding airshow from the huge Senate balcony. High above the cheering hordes lining Coruscant's airstreets, the twelve X-wings soared, danced, and looped through the air, white smoke pouring from their thrusters until they had completely written Han's and Leia's intertwined names in the sky.

"I take it you approve?" Han asked, donning his famous crooked smirk.

"It's breathtaking!" Leia cried happily. "Oh Han! How did you—"

"Wasn't my idea, sweetheart." He cocked his head toward Luke. "You can thank your brother for that gift."

Leia broke away from Han and rushed to throw her arms around Luke. "Luke, it's beautiful!"

Luke shrugged and simpered. "Wedge was more than happy to comply. We wanted to give you something special today."

"'Special' doesn't even describe it!" She turned back toward the sky. "I…I don't even have words…"

Suddenly, Leia's smile disintegrated. A feeling of absolute terror washed over her. The normally peach-hued Coruscant sky darkened into an azure blue before her eyes, and the names in the sky dissipated into massive plumes of dark gray dust and ash. The spires of Coruscant's high-rises morphed into cobalt blue mountains, and the X-wings in the sky began to change…their wings becoming flat panels, their color changing from off-gray to charcoal black…and the cheers of the people becoming screams of terror as the TIE Interceptors swept through their townships, blasting their homes, mowing them down in the streets—

"NO!" she screamed, slapping her hands on the rail. 

Han's broad smile vanished as well at Leia's outburst. "Sweetheart, Leia, what is it, what's wrong?" Leia's eyes were wide open, staring into nothingness, and she was trembling. Han looked up at Luke. "Luke, what the—" he stopped, however, when he saw the very same expression on Luke's face.

Suddenly Luke blinked, and furiously shook his head. Leia seemed to come out of the trance as well, looking up at Luke and meeting his eyes. "You…you saw it, didn't you?" she breathed.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Saw what?" Han demanded.

Leia spun toward Han and grabbed his shirtsleeve. "Han, we have to go! We're going to need SpecForce, primarily the urban guerilla and wilderness force divisions! Admiral Ackbar, General Rieekan—"

"Leia, whoa, slow down!" Han grabbed her shoulder, turning her back. "What the hell—"

The entire party on the balcony stopped and turned when they heard a young male voice crying from the ballroom. "President Organa, Your Excellency! Please everyone, let me through! Please!" 

The mass of guests parted to either side of the ballroom as a young Senatorial page stumbled through the crowd and up the balcony staircase. "Your Excellency, Sirs…" he stammered, trying to catch his breath, "We just received an audio message from Baron Lando Calrissian! Orri Prime is under Imperial attack!"

Luke, Han, Leia, Chewbacca, Rieekan and Ackbar all immediately scrambled down the staircase and raced through the ballroom. As the others hurried into the corridor, Han stopped and turned to the party guests, holding up his hands. "Folks, seems this party's being put on hold! But, uh…help yourselves to the buffet! It's paid for!" With that, he rushed out the doors to join the others, leaving the hundreds of finely dressed guests murmuring and whispering amongst themselves.

They sped down the halls until they reached the Senate's Central Com Center, where they could hear Lando's voice blaring through the speakers—"Han, Leia, anyone, are you there? We are under attack! Repeat, we are under attack—"

Han was the first to reach the com, grabbing at the mic. "Lando, we're here! What the hell is going on?"

"It's the Imps, Han! We—agh!" An explosion of laser fire cut him off temporarily. "I'm on the cannon platform securing Security HQ! We're wide open, Han—they've taken out our shields—"

"Lando, how could they get through the shields? The generator's underground—"

"I don't know, Han! They've taken out every com and survey satellite, and we couldn't even detect it! I think they're using some kind of new stealth technology we haven't seen before—we couldn't even see them enter the system! Wait, hold on— Mitti, aim for their undersides, the ion engines—" He was cut off again by another blast.

"Lando! LANDO, you there?"

The sounds of falling dirt hitting the platform proceeded Lando's answer. "Yeah, buddy, I'm still here! Han," he added breathlessly, "The Imps aren't working alone! They've got Black Sun backing them up!"

"Black Sun?" Leia gasped.

"Han, we need backup, and fast! How soon can you get here?"

Han looked up at Admiral Ackbar and General Rieekan, who were already on their own personal comlinks, alerting their forces. Ackbar turned to Han. "I can have the Republic Navy massed in less than an hour!"

"Same here with Ground and SpecForces," Rieekan added. Han turned to Luke, who was already on comlink with Wedge Antilles. 

He turned back to the mic, running a hand through his hair. "Lando, it's gonna be about three hours! We have to put out the call, and formulate some kind of plan—"

"Han!" Lando screamed over the com amidst the shrieks of laser fire and the screams of his mean, "In three hours, there'll be nothing LEFT! They're killing us here! We've got to…" There was a chilling pause before Han and the rest heard Lando say, "Gods and hells…Fall back, Take COVER! INCOMING—"

The horrific blare of proton torpedoes detonating shrieked through the speakers as did the howls and screams of the troops.

"Lando?" Han shouted. Lando didn't answer. "LANDO!! LANDO!!"

……………………

Dirt, sparks, and fired bits of metal rained down on Lando's prone form. Struggling to lift his head, he used all the strength he could muster to look up at what remained of the blasted cannon platform. Reduced to nothing more than a smoldering heap of burning scrap, it appeared to be a strange red-hued color, until…He realized he was looking at it through a thin veil of his own blood that dripped from his head into his eyes. 

He turned to his right; there lay the young Rodian gunner everyone called Aces on his back, arms splayed wide, and half his face blown off. 

Taking a deep breath, he attempted to push himself up, only to scream in agony. He glanced down at his right arm. It was broken.

His body wracked as he coughed up smoke, dust, and specks of blood. Thrusting his good arm forward, Lando tried to drag himself along the ground, but found he couldn't. He twisted his body around and looked down at his legs, which were pinned to the ground by the massive barrel of the smoldering ion cannon.

The shrieks of laser fire, the screams of the TIE Bomber engines above, and the anguished shrieks of his wounded and dying men all around him blended together in his ears in a cacophonic hum. A wave of nausea coursed through him as he dropped his head to the earth and, as his consciousness began to slip, Han's voice still rang in his ears from the comlink lying in the dirt a meter from his head…

"Lando! Lando! LANDO!!" 

…………………… 

High above Orri prime's surface, Stitz veered his Headhunter into a hard bank, trying to shake the five TIES descending on him, when he realized his commander on the surface was not answering Han Solo's calls. He snatched the com up from the console, trying to reach Lando himself. "Sir! Baron, can you hear me? Baron?" He bowed his head. "Oh…no…"

When he looked up again, it was too late to scuttle from the three TIEs screaming toward him. Lieutenant Ralan Stitz closed his eyes and gripped the throttle hard just before his ship was ripped apart…

And the communications link to Coruscant fizzled into cold static.

……………………

They fought valiantly, the citizens of Orri Prime. They took on the enemy from the rooftops of their homes, firing their blasters from high in the trees, on the ground and from the streets. They fought bravely, selflessly, vehemently, with honor and courage and untiring loyalty to their world, their governor, their new way of life, their freedom.

They fought a losing battle.

Most of the cannon squads never even made it to the platforms mounted high atop the peaks and crags of Orri Prime's mountains. Most of the shuttle lifts carrying the militia troops were mercilessly picked off by wave after wave of the TIE Interceptors now glutting the skies. Those who did make it to their posts had little to no time to proficiently man the cannons, as TIE Bombers released their loads of proton bombs directly on top of the platforms and the squads climbing them.

The few pilots available barely had the chance to engage the Empire in the air; TIE Interceptors took out most of the outdated Z-95s before they could even lift off their pads. Those who did actually make flight were quickly shot down by the far superior and better trained Imperial pilots. 

With most of the planet's heavy weaponry destroyed or damaged, the way was now cleared to drop the land assault units. One by one, The _Imprimatur_ spit out a dozen AT-ST Scout Walkers that plummeted through the atmosphere, only to softly land with the aid of the repulsor lifts installed in their undersides. Once grounded, the massive walker units' legs stood up, lifting the armor-plated cockpits off the ground and lumbering toward the townships' perimeters.

The AT-STs were followed by the Imperial landing barges carrying hundreds of stormtroopers, who poured out from the barges like swarms of white-armored locusts, easily outnumbering the militia infantry. The air dense with a spectrum of laser blasts and thick with the scent of ozone, the stormtroopers rushed the ports' and townships' entrances, mowing down hordes of Orrians fighting to defend them. Those they didn't cut down were easily and hurriedly rounded up in the streets and shield-bound…

Fifty kilometers away from the bloody and burnt battlefield that was the Atimbora Township, the _Dama Fortuna _made its own deadly descent upon I'Lai's palace.

Hovering just ten meters above the palace's inner courtyard, its thrusters blowing over the antique statues and singing the intricate trees and plants, the ships twin vertical ramps opened on either side. Czethros's mercenaries lunged out of the hold, rappelling to the garden floor on thick cables. Trodeccu the Wookiee was first to land with a resonant THUD, hoisting the huge turbocannon up and blasting the three palace guards through the glass doors from which they had just hastily entered. 

As soon as their booted feet had hit the cold stone slabs, Czethros's black-armored faction scattered themselves across the courtyard, shattering every window and busting down every door. They swarmed through the white granite corridors, easily blasting the surprised guards rushing the corners. Shrieks and screams echoed all through the palace as the band of cutthroats smashed their way into every room, forcing any terrified staff they found to their knees at blaster-point, ripping doors open and over turning furniture as they searched for Czethros's prize…

Trodeccu and a battle-scarred middle-aged Corellian named Hosh, after having blasted all the other doors and searched all the other apartments in the servants' wing, came upon the last door. The Wookiee roared an order at Hosh, who raised his rifle and shot out the door panel. As the door slipped open Trodeccu lunged in, turbocannon ready, peering through the blaster smoke to see an old woman calmly closing the drawer of her bureau.

The woman turned away from the bureau toward the intruders, lightly tucking a stray strand of curly gray hair back into her upswept hairdo…and smiled.

"Welcome," Nikoa murmured warmly. She cocked an eyebrow as she sniffed at the smoke. "You know, you could have just knocked…"

Still aboard the hovering _Dama Fortuna_, Czethros angrily hit the com. "WELL?!"

The voice that crackled back was that of Splitter's, chattering his tense reply in Snivvian.

Czethros gritted his teeth. "What do you mean you can't find her??? KEEP LOOKING!" He slammed his fist into the com console and roared, "WHERE IS SHE???"

……………………….

Running, running, sprinting across the clearing, clamping Kai against her body, I'Lai's attempts to escape were agonizingly thwarted by the vicious Snipers. Cutting her off at every angle she turned, they pushed and batted her between them like bullying children until they had forced her to the far end of the meadow, away from any path to the palace.

Choking from the smoke of the burning woods, the fumes singing her eyes, I'Lai ducked behind a large boulder and crouched. Panting frantically, she pushed Kai's sunhat up and stroked his face. "Are you all right, little one?" she asked in short, sharp sobs. She took a deep breath of relief when he stared up at her and gurgled softly. He wasn't hurt and he didn't even seem to be scared; he wasn't even crying.

I'Lai continued to take calming breaths as she struggled to assess the calamitous situation. These weren't Imperials, that was for certain; who they were, she couldn't even guess. And they obviously didn't want to kill her, or they would have easily done so by now. No, toying with her, trying to tire her, weaken her…

The engines of the Snipers roared behind her as she desperately scanned the woods in front of her, beside her…she looked up, over the treetops…and saw the peak of Grand Mountain Hall about a kilometer in the distance.

That was it! If she could get there, she could use one of the paths carved into the mountainside, and climb down one of the hundreds of old shafts dug out and get back to the palace through its many underground tunnels…

I'Lai's terror ebbed, replaced by raw determination and the overwhelming instinct of a mother protecting her child. Holding Kai with one arm, she reached down with the other and picked up a hefty rock. She sprang to her feet as Jober's Sniper pulled up and over her hiding place, hovering just meters in front of her. I'Lai locked glares with the sneering Bothan through the viewport, her eyes slit and her teeth clamped. Pulling the Force into her arm, aimed at the Sniper and hurled the rock with such strength, it actually sank a dent in the craft's nosecone. She briefly enjoyed a small moment of satisfaction when she saw the Bothan inside actually duck.

"You want me?" she screamed, a darkly confident sneer pulling at her lip, "You're going to have to CATCH ME!"

With that, I'Lai spun around and sprinted into the thick woods.

Jober's malicious glee seeped away into heated impatience as he watched his prey race into the woods with her cub. "Spirited little minx, aren't you? You are…interesting." He picked up the com. "Ca'ckalo! She's gone into the wood! Switch on the infrared!" He hit the throttle and pulled the nose up, launching the Sniper up over the treetops, with Ca'ckalo flying closely behind him.

The strip of forest dividing the palace meadow and the clearing at the bottom of Great Mountain Hall was thin, but unkempt. Overgrown with thickets and thorny vines, their barbs tore at I'Lai's tunic and pants and scratched her face and arms. Nonetheless, she ran harder than she ever had in her life, throwing her hair over Kai's head to protect him. She leapt over huge gnarled tree roots and bashed vines and branches aside, until she could see daylight break through from the woods end…

Above, Jober watched her running form glow on his infrared screen and thumbed the trigger of his flamethrower. "So, you wanna play rough, Pretty…" He ignited the flamethrower, the flames vomiting forth to blanket the treetops above her.

But I'Lai was too fast. Just as burning branches and bark rained down from above, she hurdled one last root to clear the woods, springing into the overgrown meadow beyond. She stumbled a few steps forward before turning and glaring up at the hovering Snipers. Her eyes blazed with green fire, and her lips were pulled in an arrogant snarl. She shifted Kai more securely in his sling…and laughed. She actually _laughed_ at them.

It was then Jober lost all patience. His canine-like eyes bulged from his head as his own lip curled into an angry snarl. This little bitch _dares_ laugh at him, the Supreme Vigo's second of dreaded Black Sun, Czethros's heir apparent? Perhaps it was time to teach his soon-to-be human rut-pet a lesson in respect… Lowering his hovering Sniper craft from over the burning tree, he aimed his blaster mount—and fired a shot into the earth beside I'Lai, just a meter shy of her feet.

Dirt and grass exploded into the air and around the blaster impact. But I'Lai did not move; she didn't even flinch. She stood her ground, her arms wrapped around her babe, her shoulders square, her eyes piercing through the craft's viewshield to bore into Jober's. Still holding his glare, she slowly took a step back. Then another. Then another, all the while wearing a challenging smirk, until she suddenly spun around and raced through the field to the mountain beyond.

Jober's fist curled around the throttle as he growled, "I'm growing a little tired of this game, Pretty." He hit the thrusters and the com. "Cack, get ahead of her! I'll take the rear!" Ca'ckalo grunted in affirmation and hit the thrusters, peeling through the air after the running girl.

As she ran, I'Lai closed her eyes, calling to the Force. "Faster," she whispered between furious pants, "Faster…" Suddenly, I'Lai's legs blurred beneath her as she shot forward and ahead of the pursuing Snipers.

The Bothan blinked, unsure if he was seeing this right… "Cack, come on! Get her!" He flicked a switch on the console, releasing the durasteel mesh net from its housing…

Confused, The Aqualish sped forward in attempts to catch up to her, only to see her pull away once again and dart sideways toward another grove of trees. The two Snipers instantly followed, descending toward her, speeding ever closer…Until I'Lai suddenly veered again in a sharp right angle with superhuman speed.

Ca'ckalo slammed the repulsors and banked the craft hard. His Sniper fishtailing wildly, he fought to control the craft, yanking the throttle hard and to the right until the nosecone pointed toward the fleeing I'Lai. He hit the thrusters again and shot forward.

Jober, however, was not so lucky. He yanked the nose up, attempting to clear the oncoming wood, when the net dangling below him snared itself into the tangle of tree limbs jutting forth. The craft suddenly jerked, twisted around and plummeted into the thick wood, snapping the century-old trees in half and sending them crashing over his now-disabled Sniper.

Dazed and enraged, Jober popped the restraints and hit the cockpit control with his curled paw, climbing out of the Sniper and falling to the ground just seconds before the entire craft burst into flames. He scrambled away on all fours just as the fire ignited the trees around him, clearing the burning wood before it threatened to consume him as well. 

The Bothan struggled to his feet, ripped his helmet off his thick-pelted head, and howled furiously into the sky.

I'Lai shot a glance over her shoulder, racing forward at her impossible speed, watching the remaining Sniper narrow the distance between them with every passing second, the vertical cliff side of Grand Mountain Hall looming ever closer …closer… CLOSER…

She snapped her head forward, tightened her grip around her baby, and screamed, "KAI! HANG ON!" 

With that, she leapt forward, hitting the earth beneath her hard…and sprang twenty meters straight up into the air.

The cliff side filled Ca'ckalo's entire viewport as he screamed and hit the repulsors—but there was no veering his craft this time. The Sniper crashed full-speed into the rocky wall and ignited into a splendid explosion of flame, metal, burning flesh and hair and flying chunks of stone.

Airborne, I'Lai twisted in the air and, just as she was about to hit the stone path atop the cliff, thrust her hand palm down, using the Force to buffer her fall. Still she landed hard, lurching forward onto her knees with a short cry of pain as the smoke from the crashed Sniper filtered from below.

"Kai," she whimpered, panting furiously, sitting back on her legs and unwrapping the sling enough to get a good look at him, "are you all right?" She tugged the little sunhat back from his tiny face to see her son's smiling face and hear him cackle with delight. She slumped back, incredulous. "You thought that was _fun_? My word, you are your father's son, aren't you?" She scrambled to her feet, holding him close to her body. "Come on, we have to get home…"

Around the other side of the mountain was the entrance to a passageway that would lead her down into the huge maw of the carved-out mountain. With each agonizing step, her exhausted legs trembled and buckled beneath her and her bootsoles slipped on the path's loose gravel as she struggled hurriedly up the steep stone path. She grabbed at the rocky mountainside for support. _Just a few more steps…come on…just a few more…_

The rays of Orri Prime's blue sun broke forth as I'Lai cleared the curve, the steep path leveling out. The path continued for another ten meters before it curved again, and just beyond that turn was the passage entrance…

Suddenly, apparently from nowhere, the roar of ship engines flooded her ears and a powerful blast of air blew over her. I'Lai stopped and stumbled, falling back onto the path and cradling Kai in her arms, her eyes huge with renewed terror…

The _Dama Fortuna_ levitated from beyond the cliff side like a huge black insect. Hovering, the ship rotated slowly until its opened ramp was revealed. There, leaning forward from within the maw of the ship and holding the ramp strut for support, stood a tall, powerfully built green-haired man wearing a black leather flak suit, a silver bionic visor across his eyes, and a chillingly menacing smile. 

As the ship edged closer, Czethros reached toward her with his free hand, and she heard him croon over the din of the engines…

"Get in the ship, Governor Pretty..."

……………………….

"Lando, come in," Han continued to bellow into the mic. "Lando!"

"Sir, it's no use," the Sullustan communications officer interjected somberly. "The signal's been lost."

The New Republic elite stood silent and stunned. After for a few moments, Leia took a deep breath and grabbed the white veil off her head. "Lieutenant, bring up map of the Dia-Orri system."

"Yes, Your Excellency," replied the Sullustan officer seated at the console. He punched in the codes to the cartographic holo, which shot the vibrant hologram of the Dia-Orri system into the map pit. As the group moved toward it, Leia turned to Ackbar. "Admiral?"

"We'll have to rendezvous just outside the system to keep from alerting the Imperial forces." He raised a webbed hand toward the system's outermost gas giant, Orri Omega. "I'd say one parsec behind this planet should suffice."

"Admiral, General Rieekan, inform your forces to meet at the designated location. Luke," she said, turning to her brother, "I am reinstating you temporarily as Rogue Group Leader." 

"Leia, Wedge is more than capable—"

"I know, Luke, but I need you up there," she countered gently yet firmly. She touched his arm. "I need a Jedi pilot to lead them against those TIEs."

Luke squeezed her hand. "You got it."

She turned back to the group. "Gentlemen, to your ships. General Solo and I will meet with you in the _Millennium Falcon_—"

"Whoa, now wait just a minute!" Han declared, putting up his hands. He turned to Leia and raised an eyebrow. "Who says you're coming?"

"Uh oh," Luke grunted, running a hand through his hair.

Leia glared at her husband, folding her arms over her chest. "Excuse me?"

"Leia, we're flying a combat mission here! You're not flying with me."

"And why not?" she retorted

"Well, need I remind you that you just happen to be pre—"

"Pregnant?" Leia snapped heatedly.

Han pursed his lips as the others in the room quickly glanced away, and took a slow breath. "Well, I WAS going to say President, but now that you mention it…yeah, THAT TOO!"

"President Organa, General Solo, this really isn't—" Rieekan started to say, until he was hastily cut off.

"And need I remind you, General Solo, that as Supreme Commander of the New Republic military, I happen to outrank you! So, as of this moment, I am ORDERING you to take me on your ship—"

"Yes, MY ship which, technically, is a private vessel and not under New Republic military jurisdiction! So as captain of MY ship, I firmly deny any and all access—"

"HAN! LEIA! STOP!" Luke snapped. The couple's heads both snapped toward the young Jedi, who anxiously rubbed his forehead. "Suggestion? President Organa, why don't you accompany Admiral Ackbar on the _Defiance_?" 

"But Luke—" Leia started firmly.

"Leia," Luke interjected softly, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Han's right. It's far too risky for you to go with him. You'll be safer on the _Defiance_. Agreed?"

Leia sighed hastily, dropping her eyes to the floor. "Agreed."

"OK then," Han announced. "Let's get this show on the road!"

………………….

"WHAT JU MEAN, JOU'RE LEAVING??" Watto exclaimed as he watched Boba Fett race around the shop, gathering up all the pieces to his armor.

"That's what I said," Fett snapped quietly as he threw the complete armor down on the center table. Without any hint of modesty or shame, he immediately began peeling off the loose-fitting clothing he wore.

"But…but…" Watto shook his head in exasperated confusion, "I don't get it! How ju know jour lady is in trouble?"

Stripped down to his skivvies, Fett stepped one leg at a time into the armorweave undersuit. "I just know."

"Wat, ju have a secret comlink to her or sumting?"

Fett stopped fastening the front of the suit for a moment. "Or something," he breathed, clenching his eyes and shaking his head before he resumed. He snapped his covered head toward Watto. "Help me get into this. NOW."

Grimacing, Watto quickly flapped over and picked up the knee and thigh guards. He sank down toward the ground and began strapping them to the bounty hunter, who was already donning the armored dissipation vest. "Ju still haven't tested de jet pack, ju know! Ju just finished it!"

"I'm aware of that."

"It could blow up!" the Toydarian warned.

"I'll take the chance. Bracers."

Levitating, Watto grabbed Fett's bracers and carefully clamped them around the Fett's arms. Fett stood perfectly still, fighting to calm the rage tearing through his limbs. Brief, choppy images still flickered through his mind—I'Lai running, clutching Kai to her breast as she was mercilessly chased by two black-hulled Snipers… inexplicably, he not only saw, but _felt_ her fortitude and ingenuity as she made her escape…but it was when he saw, through her eyes, the leather-clad, green-haired man did he instantly know who was behind this…

"Czethros," he growled dangerously, his hand unconsciously curling into a tight fist.

Watto glanced up. "Ju say sumting?"

"Nothing worth repeating," Fett rumbled. "Check your accounts tomorrow morning—you'll find the remainder of your fee there." With his bracers secured, he picked his helmet up with one hand while, with the other, tore the wrap off his face and head.

Panicked, Watto practically shrieked and covered his eyes with his hands. "No, no, no! I din't see nuttin, I swear, Fett—"

"Don't worry, Watto," Fett muttered. "You'll never see me again."

Watto cautiously raised a glance through his fingers and looked into the infamous bounty hunter's scarred, swarthy face. The two stood silent as they stared at each for a brief moment before Watto dropped his hands from his eyes, squared his thin shoulders, and smirked. "Go, Boba Fett. Save your lady and send those bastards to the dimensional hells." He reached his hand out. "Goodbye…my friend."

Fett clamped Watto's hand in his own and whispered, "Goodbye, Watto," before he slid the helmet on his head and strode out the door.

Watto levitated to the door and slid the slot open. He watched the armored bounty hunter stride with power and determination toward the _Slave I_ and, as he saw Boba Fett disappear over the small crest of the asteroid's horizon, he smiled a soft, proud smile.


	10. Enter Sandman

Note: "Sabotage" 

lyrics by the Beastie Boys

Copyright 1991

Episode 2

Chapter 9

A Reluctant Truce

The Sith Infiltrator slipped through the orbiting blockades surrounding Orri Prime as a melody might go unnoticed in a cacophonic din of noise. The ship, sized somewhat smaller than a Lambda shuttlecraft, sliced through the blackness of space, expertly weaving and dodging around Imperial TIES, shuttles, and other various craft toward the newly conquered mining world. So closely did it skim past the Imperial ships, it would have seemed impossible for it to go undetected. But even as black-helmeted pilots turned their visors in its direction, even as technicians scanned their monitors for any non-Imperial vessels, the ship passed by their unwitting eyes as a specter through a mist, spiraling down in cold fluid descent upon the mountainous northern hemisphere…

Slicing through the stratosphere, the Infiltrator continue to evade the scores of TIEs glutting the air around it. It slid, like a imperceptible bird of prey, smoothly over the disarray of smoldering townships, swarms of stormtroopers rounding up prisoners, and lumbering AT-STs below it. 

A galaxy's life away, the Infiltrator's pilot manipulated the controls from the viscera of his cavern set deep within his dead world. He knelt still in his cave, his fingers woven together, his thumbs set upon his temples, his bared painted shoulders quaking. He needed no screen or monitor to pilot his craft—he could see all through the power of his shadowy mind, see the rolling foothills of the majestic cobalt mountains, the dense forests swaying from the force of repulsor engines soaring around them…

A soft smile curved the end of his tattooed lip as he saw a sprawling white granite palace within his mind, his Infiltrator's destination…

* * *

"Sssshhh…" 

Seated in her plush desk chair and rocking her baby boy back and forth with his head nestled gently beneath her chin, I'Lai held Kai against her breast as she attempted to soothe his distressed crying. No doubt he was hungry, but… breast-feeding him at the present time was out of the question…

A quartet of TIE Interceptors roared along the smoldering skyline, spewing flame retardant over the burning wood just outside the tall glass doors of her office suite as I'Lai's eyes scanned across the four black-armored mercenaries watching her from their posts. One was an olive-skinned Rodian; two others were humanoid, possibly half-breeds; the fourth was a charcoal-hued, one-eyed Wookiee who seemed to be in charge at the moment. Throughout the time since she had been brutally escorted from the black ship into her suite, they had exchanged crude comments in what she recognized as Huttese, a coarse language that she recognized but had never learned. I'Lai, however, needn't have spoken the language to comprehend their meaning; the mercenaries' lascivious leers, cruel laughter, and the way they would lick their lips in her direction spoke volumes. The Force only amplified the waves of vile lust emanating from the mercs, and showed her that they wanted nothing more than to throw her down upon her desk and take their turns using her savagely…Thankfully, however, not one of them had even made the attempt to come near her—an order, no doubt, from the green-haired, bionic-visored leader who was somewhere within her palace.

Bravely, she returned their brutishly gluttonous glances with a firm yet serene countenance, despite the panic gripping her pounding heart…

_Animals! Cursed animals, all of them!_

Her regal manner was shattered by _his _voice, crashing like waves of a liquid onyx against the shores of her mind…

_They dare covet you, when they should offer their necks to cradle your boot…_

"Go away," she rasped under her breath.

_You disappoint me, Archae'el. You fear these insects…_

"Go AWAY…"

_When you could so easily crush their windpipes with nothing more than your sheer will…_

"STOP IT!" she screamed. "GO AWAY! GET OUT!"

The leers of the mercs surrounding her dimmed slightly, but only for a moment before they all guffawed at the outburst that they assumed was directed at them. Kai cried louder, and I'Lai coughed suddenly and harshly as she shrank back into her chair, as her lungs were still rough from the fumes of the smoldering trees just outside the garden walls. Swallowing hard, she gently cupped his tiny head and pressed a comforting kiss into his dark, downy hair as she fought back the tears welling in her eyes…When she raised her head, she gasped in surprise to see a lithe, lavender-skinned Twi'lek girl standing before her. She had been so quiet sitting in a corner of the chamber; I'Lai had completely forgotten she was there. 

The Twi'lek smiled bashfully and kindly as she handed I'Lai a small glass of water. I'Lai reached up and took the glass, whispering, "Thank you," before greedily drinking it down. When she glanced back up at the Twi'lek, it was only then she noticed the ugly purplish bruise around the alien girl's right eye; it was only then that she felt, through the Force, the girl's everlasting terror and utter misery. As she handed the glass back to her, I'Lai softly repeated with deep appreciation, "Thank you." 

The Twi'lek's warm smile instantly vanished as her head snapped toward the sound of the suite door swooshing open. Quickly and fearfully, she snatched the glass from I'Lai's hand and scurried back into her corner of the suite. The cruel smiles on the mercenaries' faces quickly blinked away, and they all jerked to attention just as the tall, broad-shouldered green-haired man entered the chamber in a fierce, determined stride.

"At ease," the man exhaled, setting one hand on his hip and the other on his side holster as he stopped his pace. "Boys, go down into the kitchen and get yourself some grub." His mouth hooked up in an unsettling smirk as he turned his visor in I'Lai's direction. "I'll take it from here."

With grunts of hunger and snorts of lascivious understanding, the armored mercs filed out of the chamber, just as the Corellian named Hosh passed them coming in. The leather-clad man turned and gruffed, "What?"

Hosh sighed and set his jaw. "Pellaeon's on the com with a mynock up his ass about the forest fires."

The man returned the sigh and casually shrugged. "Tell him it was a weapon's malfunction, and we're REALLY sorry."

"He also wants to know why you haven't handed over the traitor yet."

"What traitor? Oh yes, her. Tell him…funniest thing, but…we haven't been able to find her yet. Seems the natives here are quite fond of their pretty governor and are hiding her well, but… we are searching the lower levels of this palace, and will contact him as soon as we have anything to report." The unsettling smile beneath the visor only grew broader.

And I'Lai's blood ran cold.

The Corellian replied, "Aye, sir," and exited the chamber.

The man began to encroach upon his lovely captive and her babe. I'Lai continued to sit still and serene, staring straight ahead while she fought to control her short, startled breathing. He circled her chair slowly until he planted himself directly in front of her, folding his arms over his broad chest and, donning a cruelly charismatic smile, he murmured, "I'm ready to speak to you now."

I'Lai's only response was a slow, cold shifting of her eyes from the far wall directly into his blipping visor.

Dropping to one knee before her, his smile still intact, he crooned, "Forgive me my poor manners, Lady: Rather than try to shout over the thrusters of my vessel, I wanted a more private atmosphere for a proper introduction. The name is Czethros; Baron Junius bon Czethros. And you are…the Lady I'Lai, are you not?" He waited for a response. He received nothing more than a bitter stare. No matter. "It is an _immeasurable_ pleasure to meet you, my dear." He reached forward to grip her hand, intending to kiss it…

Only to have I'Lai angrily slap his hand away and slit her eyes into a hostile glare.

Czethros's grin thawed into a dangerous frown as he straightened up. "So, it's going to be like that, is it? I thought perhaps we could be civil about this, but…very well. Have it your way." Cocking his head slightly toward the corner, he hastily snapped his fingers. Instantly, the young Twi'leki girl sprang forward at his command, coming up along his side and casting her eyes to the floor. Still glaring at I'Lai, he commanded, "Take the child."

"NO!" I'Lai cried, pinning Kai to her chest.

"I assure you, Governor Pretty," he snarled with menacing emphasis, "that, at the present moment, he will come to far less harm in her arms than in yours. Now hand him over."

I'Lai took in a ragged breath just as the Twi'leki girl came forward. Kneeling before her, the girl reached up and gently touched I'Lai's cheek. Although she spoke no words, her brilliant violet eyes softly and kindly promised I'Lai that Kai would come to no harm. Clamping her eyes to dam the torrent of tears threatening to break through, I'Lai reluctantly loosened the hold on her son and allowed the Twi'lek's arms to gently enfold and lift him from her. 

As the girl softly rocked Kai in her arms and quietly hummed him a Twi'leki lullaby, I'Lai turned her fierce glare back to Czethros. "What is the meaning of this invasion? What is happening to my people? I demand that you tell me—"

"You are in the position to demand NOTHING, madam," Czethros barked. He paused. "Whereas I am in the position to demand whatever I wish. And the first thing I wish to know is…" He bent down slightly, just so his blinking red eye shone directly into hers, and murmured softly, "Where's your baby's daddy?"

I'Lai blinked. "Excuse me?"

"The father of your bastard," Czethros clarified with deliberate emphasis as he tugged his black leather gloves off his hands "Where is he?"

In spite of the anxiety now gripping her, outwardly I'Lai remained poised and stoic as she answered, "I fail to see the significance of that question. Grand Moff Denivrian died over a year ago, months before his son was even bor—"

I'Lai's sentence was abruptly cut off by Czethros knuckles striking her across the cheek.

A resonant CRACK! reverbed off the marble walls just as pain exploded throughout the side of I'Lai face. Reeling, she caught herself just before she fell from her chair, and the pounding of blood thundered in her ear so loudly, she could barely hear Czethros snarl, "Wrong answer."

(And somewhere, in a modified Kuat Firespray racing through the tumult of hyperspace, an armored bounty hunter felt the sharp blow of a bare-knuckled strike spread through his own cheek…)

Stunned and cupping her face, I'Lai sat for a brief second before slowly turning her blazing eyes back to Czethros. "You do realize that you just struck a governing official of the New Republic, do you not, Baron?"

"And do you realize, Lady," Czethros countered as he placed both hands on the arms of her chair and leaned in close to her face, "that as a contracted representative of the Galactic Empire… I don't care?"

I'Lai glanced briefly at the Twi'lek's bruised face before donning a defiant smirk and adding, "Are all of the Empire's hired guns as proficient at beating women as you are?"

His lip tugged up. "Hmm, spirited and bold as well as remarkable in face and body." Czethros hummed through a chuckle, tilting his head just slightly as he regarded I'Lai. "Who knew, judging from that pile of scrap he insists on wearing, that the bounty hunter had such cultivated taste?" Adrenaline careened throughout I'Lai's limbs, chilling her to her very core. "So," Czethros continued, still leaning into her, "where is he?"

"Where is who?" I'Lai asked simply.

He took a long, frustrated draw of breath through his nose. "Where…is…Boba…Fett?"

"Boba Fett?" I'Lai giggled incredulously, feverishly playing the innocent. "Is that who you meant by 'bounty hunter'? Baron, I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about—"

Czethros, sighing in mild exasperation and running a hand over his pomaded green hair, snapped, "I detest having to consort to barbaric means, Lady, in order to extract information; therefore, I will lay it out simply for you. This system has been designated rogue by the Galactic Empire. This 'invasion', as you so call it, is merely the Empire reclaiming what is rightfully theirs. I am to hand you over to the Admiral of that Destroyer hovering over our heads, who will then take you to where you will be tried and executed as a traitor." Again, he placed both hands on the arms of I'Lai's chair and leaned in close. "Does that answer your earlier questions?" he hissed into her face. I'Lai said and did nothing but glare into his blinking bionic eye.

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, Czethros smiled—not his usual overconfident smirk, but a soft, almost kind smile—as he reached up and gingerly ran his fingertip underneath her jaw line. "However, I can keep that from happening, beautiful lady. Would you like to know how?"

"I'm all ears," I'Lai whispered astringently.

Czethros caught the sarcasm, ignored it, and continued. "I can tell the Admiral you were accidentally killed in the incursion. Incinerated by a stray cannon blast, so there would be no trace of your body left. And you could simply remain here for the rest of your natural born days…as the concubine to the new governor of Orri Prime." The fingertip trailed off her chin to slide suggestively down the pale column of her throat. "Judging from your past, you've had plenty of practice over the years; I'd think you would be quite good at it by now."

A low, bitter laugh escaped I'Lai's lips as she continued to glare into Czethros's eye. "And just who is this new governor of Orri Prime to be, Baron?"

"Well, beautiful lady…" The fingertip continued downward, lightly tracing over her collarbone. "I think we both know the answer to that question." 

"So," I'Lai breathed, remaining steady and calm while forcing the nausea down at the touch of this reptile, "all I have to do is bed with you, and you'll spare my life?" Again, she laughed sourly. "How… juvenile. You don't ask for much, do you?"

"Oh, on the contrary," Czethros corrected as he leaned in so close, his lips were mere millimeters from hers. His honeyed tone suddenly becoming menacing, his blipping red eye holding steadfast in hers, he hissed, "I never _ask_ for anything." A small smile of sadistic satisfaction crossed his lip as he watched the bravado in I'Lai's eyes seep away. "You see, I'm afraid the deal is a bit more complex than that. For one thing, all company holdings, all deeds, all accounts, and this palace will be signed over to me, after its seizure by the Galactic Empire. The people of this planet-- as well as any Imperial personnel involved in this matter-- will be informed of your unfortunate 'demise' as well, and hence will be returned to the life of servitude they knew before. You will remain here, under the watchful eyes of my various agents, for the rest of your days, where you will strive to please me in any way I demand. If you do not…well…my means of discipline can be somewhat… _severe,_ as you have just experienced."

"Is that all?" I'Lai queried flippantly, trying to maintain her brave composure.

"Not quite," he answered curtly, backing away and rising to his feet. "You will, of course, bear me an heir, as you have proven yourself to be fertile." He turned slightly over his shoulder toward the Twi'leki and hissed cruelly, "Unlike some." He turned back. "Oh, and another thing—you will be shared with my second in command."

As if the deal being described wasn't loathsome enough. "W-what?" I'Lai stammered.

"Jober. You remember him—the large mutant Bothan with whom you shared the romp through the meadow?" I'Lai's eyes grew wide with horror, and he mockingly sighed. "I'm afraid I did promise him a tumble or two with you. What can I say? He has a strange penchant for human females, and… he likes _you_." 

I'Lai's lip quivered, and her skin crawled with utter revulsion. "You're joking."

"I wish I were, my dear. But a promise is a promise, after all…"

"Why are you doing this?!" I'Lai exclaimed suddenly, jumping to her feet, balling her fists at her sides and meeting Czethros's bionic glare dead on. "I nor my people have done you any harm in any way! I don't even know who you are! What horrendous thing could I possibly have done—"

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Czethros roared, backing her into her chair and slamming his palms onto the arms, trapping her. "She asks me what she has done! Well, then I will tell her what she has done! Absolutely nothing! She has done nothing but exasperate me and mock me and refuse to cooperate, and I am growing tired of her insolence!" With astonishing speed, he reached behind I'Lai's neck and grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her head forward and eliciting a sharp, pained cry from her. "I have presented you with the most munificent offer that the whore of a two-credit bounty hunter deserves," he snarled into her face, "but it all hinges on one thing: And that is you tell me where Boba Fett is!"

"I don't know where he is!" she cried, struggling against his grip.

Czethros tightened his vicious hold even more. "So you admit you know him! You admit that he is your lover!"

"No!"

"If you do not tell me where he can be found, I will hand you over to Empire without a second glance! If you do, then you will remain alive…so you will have the distinct pleasure of watching while I strap him to a table and gouge out his eyes!"

Thrashing to free herself and driven more by raw instinct than lucid thought, I'Lai reached up and, her fingers curled into claws, raked her nails down and across Czethros's cheek. Czethros howled in pain and released her hair, bolting to his feet, and cradling the four fresh furrows on his face. When he brought his hand away, his palm was seeped in blood.

He stared at his bloodied hand for a long moment. He raised his visor toward I'Lai, who still sat cringed in her chair, panting uncontrollably. Rage flooded through him as he stepped toward her. "You little BITCH!" he roared, bringing his hand back and striking her once again across the face. 

I'Lai careened from her chair to hit the floor hard on her knees and elbows. As she slowly raised her head, a dark fire began to smolder in her heart…

_That's it, Archae'el! Embrace the rage…_

She turned a slow, menacing glare toward the furious and bleeding Supreme Vigo, her lips pulled back into a vicious snarl…

_Gorge upon the hatred feeding your heart…_

Her slit eyes focused directly on Czethros's throat…

_He dare strike his queen, his GODDESS? It is time to teach this upstart thug a lesson, I think…_

Enraged, Czethros took another step toward the fallen girl…but then stopped when he felt his throat constrict. He frantically struggled to take a breath, but the only sounds coming from him were the sickening squeaks of strangulation. His hand wrapped around his throat as his body seized and tensed, and he stumbled back to brace himself against the far wall. The Twi'leki girl's eyes darted anxiously from I'Lai to Czethros, failing to comprehend why her master was suddenly dying before her. As his face turned blue, I'Lai, watching him through the veil of her thick hair thrown over her face, slowly, maliciously, grinned…

But the swoosh of the door opening instantly broke I'Lai's concentration. Her head snapped up and away from the choking Vigo as her Force-hold on his throat was broken. Czethros collapsed against the wall as he hungrily and desperately filled his starved lungs with ragged gasps of precious air…

"Boss!" Jober exclaimed, stepping into the chamber toward Czethros. "What happened? You OK?"

Still panting, Czethros threw a fierce, yet somewhat confused, bionic glare at I'Lai, who still knelt on all fours and glowered at him with the heat of murder in her eyes. He rubbed his raw throat as he pushed himself upright off the wall. "I'm…I'm fine," he rasped.

"Boss, you were choking—"

"I said I'm fine!" Czethros growled. He took a long, calming breath through his nose, and then cracked his neck before marching impatiently toward Jober. "What is it, Jober? What do you want?"

The large Bothan seemed to waver for a moment, as though he were having trouble keeping his equilibrium. He nodded toward Czethros. "There's an old woman who wants to talk to you," he murmured, almost too softly.

Czethros paused, tilting his head slightly as he asked, "You interrupt me to tell me an old woman wants to talk to me?" 

Jober absently nodded. "Yeah."

"And?"

"I think you should go talk to her," Jober muttered, shaking his head as though he were trying to clear it.

Czethros stepped toward Jober. "How old is she?"

"Real old."

"Pfft," Czethros scoffed, turning back toward I'Lai, "kill her."

"I…" Jober twisted his lips over his fangs and clenched his eyes closed. "I can't."

The Vigo stopped and turned once again. "What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean I can't kill her." Jober's voice was low, hoarse, as if he had just woken. "I try to pull the trigger, and my finger won't move. I…I can't get near her. My feet are just…stuck. The other guys tried too…same thing." He lifted his bleary eyes to Czethros. "She…she wants to talk to you. It's…important that she talks to you."

"Jober, what the hell is wrong with you?" Czethros snapped as he strode toward his second. Jober's only response was a lost, unfocused look. Exasperated, Czethros barked, "Fine, I'll talk to her. I'm not getting anywhere here anyway. Where is she?"

"The kitchen, feeding the boys."

"All right. You stay here and keep watch." He stepped toward the door, but then stopped. He turned back. "Oh, and Jober?"

The Bothan lifted his gaze. "Yeah, what is it, Bos—"

Without any warning, Czethros's closed fist slammed into Jober's muzzle. Howling and reeling, Jober was about to fall when Czethros caught him by the waist and hurled him face first into the nearest wall. Grabbing him by his armored shoulder, Czethros spun him around and spit into his face, "That was for the little stunt you pulled out there with Fett's woman!"

"Come on, Boss," Jober moaned, wiping a paw across his newly bloodied lip, "we were only having a little fun—"

"Well, your 'fun' cost me two Kuat Snipers and one of my best men!" He lodged his forearm into Jober's throat as he hissed, "Listen carefully, because I will only say this once—you are EXPENDABLE, do you hear me? I don't care how long you've been with me; I will not tolerate that kind of stupidity! Understand!"

With his head forced back against the wall, Jober stared meekly down his snout at his infuriated boss. "I…I understand, Boss. I'm…sorry."

Czethros glared at his second before releasing Jober from the wall. "And HANDS OFF, Jober. You can't have her until I say so. Understand?"

"Yeah, Boss," Jober answered, sulking and humiliated.

"Good." He backed toward the door, shooting his glare over the chamber, before saying, "I'll be back," and striding through the door.

The second Czethros was gone, I'Lai bolted to her feet and rushed toward the Twi'leki holding Kai. "Please, please give him back," she sobbed softly. Very gently, the girl slid Kai into I'Lai's open arms. Kai immediately began to loudly cry as I'Lai moved back to her chair, hushing and cooing to him.

Kai's sharp wails pealed off the chamber's ceilings—right into Jober's highly sensitive Bothan ears. "Can't you shut that brat up?" he barked ferociously, still burned from Czethros's furious reproach.

I'Lai turned her tear-drenched face toward the Bothan. "He's hungry."

"Then FEED him!"

She hesitated for a moment, realizing there was nowhere private in the chamber she could go. Reluctantly, she turned her chair toward the back corner of the room—Only to have Jober stride over and plant himself in front of her. "Did I say you could turn around?" he growled.

I'Lai swallowed hard. "I would like a little privacy…please," she asked softly. She lifted her gaze to meet the Bothan's slanted eyes. "It's polite."

Jober regarded her for a moment, a lustful growl resonating low in his throat. Reaching down, he slid a furred finger under I'Lai's chin and lifted her head, perusing the newly swelling bruises left there by Czethros's blows. Letting out a brief snort, he dropped her chin and circled behind her, allowing her the privacy she requested. Cradling Kai in one arm, she adjusted her tunic open, unsnapping the support garment and freeing her breast for Kai, whose cries instantly vanished as he began to feed.

Standing behind her, Jober crossed his arms over his armored chest. "You killed my friend, you know."

"I didn't kill him," I'Lai replied as simply as she could, despite the guilt gnawing at her heart. "I was only trying to protect my son. Your friend killed himself."

"Mmmm," Jober hummed, leaning down over the back of the chair. "That may well be. But I'm still upset with you." Again, she heard the lascivious growl emanate from his throat. "But maybe you can give me some…_incentive_ to forgive you."

"You should be ashamed of yourself," I'Lai snapped. "The Bothans are a peaceful, intellectual, and artistic people hailed for their skills in diplomacy! How could you possibly disgrace your clan as to become a common thug?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, Pretty," Jober snarled, coming around to crouch in front of her. I'Lai immediately pulled her long raven hair to conceal her exposed breast and pulled Kai even closer to her. "I am three times the size of a normal Bothan, which means I am a genetic mutation! Yeah sure, my people are peaceful and intelligent…unless you're born a freak! Then they exile you from their clan quicker than jumping to hyperspeed! So don't give me any lectures about my 'people'! I found my people."

"A band of cutthroats and murderers, led by a sociopath who couldn't care if you lived or died," I'Lai replied dourly.

Jober's lip curled away from his fang in a slow snarl as he leaned in close to I'Lai's face. "You talk too much. I have better uses for your mouth, Pretty," he hissed in a rasped whisper. The snarl morphed into a hungry sneer, and his nostrils flared. "I like the way you smell." Slowly, he picked up a pawful of I'Lai's hair from her breast, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. He leaned in even closer, just so the tip of his snout was at her ear, and growled, "I am going to enjoy you."

The revulsion in I'Lai's stomach slowly boiled into a serene fury. The dark fire had returned, firing every nerve, every fiber in her sinews. Her fear had dissipated, and her voice was low, almost inhuman when she growled back, "Get your filthy paw off me, you fucking _animal_."

"Well, well," Jober chuckled as he leaned back from her ear, "Such language from such a pretty doll—" His humor, however, was short-lived. As he met her glare, the hungry sneer drawing his lips immediately melted away…

I'Lai's lips were pulled back in a subtly ferocious snarl, as though she were bearing her own fangs, and a soft but intensely resonant growl rippled from the depths of her throat. And instead of finding eyes of brilliant teal, Jober found himself staring into crystal points that flashed silver white. 

He rose to his feet and backed away from her as a fearful bafflement clutched at his insides. I'Lai continued to glare at him, although her eyes were slowly darkening back into their normal blue-green hue. She tipped her head up as she softly yet firmly ordered, "You will stand over there and leave me alone while I feed my son."

Hesitant yet strangely powerless to argue, Jober nodded once and continued to back away, stopping only when he reached the far wall. _First the one in the kitchen, and now her_, Jober thought as he ran a nervous paw over his muzzle. _What the hell kind of place is this…?_

* * *

As the doors slid closed behind him, Czethros stopped and fell back upon them, panting profusely. Unconsciously, his hand lifted to rub his throat as he tried to make sense of what just happened. It was still raw, tight, and distended, proving that he had not imagined the attack from…from…_her_? Fett's woman? No, that was impossible! She was on the ground, on her knees, two meters away from him…but he recalled the look in her eyes, the sadistic, satisfied smile that crept over her full lips. How could…Had she just tried to kill him…with her _mind_? And now that he was actually thinking about it... Jober had told him she was running through the field, with Ca'ckalo chasing her… and that he had crashed the Sniper just minutes before Czethros had swung the _Dama Fortuna_ around to retrieve him. If she was in the field…just how the hell did she get on that mountain ledge twenty meters _above_ it? And just exactly how did Ca'ckalo crash his Sniper…?

He suddenly broke out into a cold sweat. Sure, he had heard the stories. Stories about how…what were they called…_Jedi_ could move things with their minds, read people's thoughts, be able to perform superhuman feats of strength and agility…and for some odd reason, he suddenly thought of Prince Xizor and his unrelenting hatred for the Lord Vader, whom he had always called "that black-hearted Jedi _sorcerer_…"

A chill ran down Czethros's spine before he shook it off. "Jedi! Yeah, right!" he muttered sourly as he pushed himself off the doors and began stomping down the corridor. "She's as much of a Jedi as I am a pre-school marm! The Jedi are dead, gone! And good fuckin' riddance!"

He had marched around several corners and had come to the top of a lavish white marble staircase when a realization suddenly struck him. He double backed a couple steps to peer down the hall he had just traveled, then turned and looked down the opposite end. Stepping toward the first stair, he peered down into the grand—and empty—foyer of the palace while listening to the complete silence. His men, who were supposed to be patrolling the corridors, were nowhere to be found. "What the fuck…Trodeccu!" he roared, his voice echoing off the glistening finishes of marble and granite. "Splitter! HOSH!"" Again, no answer but the resonance of his own voice. 

Czethros drew his lips into a thin angry line as he hopped down the stairs two at a time. As he hit the landing, he charged straight ahead toward the kitchen area, still calling for his missing crew while his hand immediately went to his sidearm…

As he came to the end of the corridor, he could hear the clinking of utensils against dishes coming from around the corner as well as…humming? A woman…humming? Slowly, Czethros stepped around the corner toward the shaft of light coming from the kitchen, his hand steadied on his blaster, until he had reached the door and peered around the jamb…

There were his men, all three dozen of them, inside. They were seated at and on top of long metal servants' tables, all of them eating stew out of their bowls. Besides the sounds of chewing and slurping and an occasional grunt of satisfaction, they were all completely silent, and they all looked glassy-eyed and incoherent…just like Jober had…

At the far end of the kitchen stood an old woman in front of a large stove, her back to the door. Somewhat tall for a woman her age, dressed in simple garb and her whitish-gray curling hair pinned into a neat bun, she hummed brightly as she stirred a huge pot with one hand while tossing in herbs with the other.

Czethros's nostrils flared wide as he slid his jaw to the side. "What the FUCK is going on here!" he bellowed. Despite the apparent rage in his tone, the armored men hardly flinched—they merely looked up from their bowls to stare at him incoherently before returning to their meal.

The woman at the stove turned over her shoulder slightly, and exclaimed jovially, "Baron Czethros! How lovely of you to join us! Please, come in!" Turning back to her cooking, the woman gestured to her side. "You'll find bowls and spoons over there on the counter. Don't worry—I've made plenty! You won't go hungry, that's for sure!" Chuckling, she added musically, "Ah, a wonderful invention, stew! Nothing better for feeding the masses, don't you agree? Of course, if stew is too…plebian for your cultured tastes, Baron, I can always fix you something else—"

"WHY AREN'T YOU PATROLLING THE PALACE!" Czethros roared at his men, stomping toward the end of one of the tables and flipping the bowl of the olive-skinned Rodian. Meat, broth, and vegetables flew in all directions as the Rodian, as did the others seated at his table, merely gaped at Czethros blankly. "You're supposed to be guarding the prisoners, and watching for—"

"I assure you, Baron," Nikoa soothed in a motherly tone, turning around toward the cutting table. "All the house staff is locked away in the ballroom, safe and snug. And I wouldn't worry about anyone coming around. All is well." With that, she lifted the large chef knife off the table and proceeded to cut up fruit. "Gwizzil, do you want some more?"

"Eeepo needa, pwease," the scarred and battered Rodian answered as sweetly as a teacher's pet. 

"Well, get your bowl and come get it."

"Gwizzil, what the hell is wrong with you!" Czethros demanded furiously. Gwizzil completely ignored him as he went back up to the stove to refill his bowl. "What the hell is wrong with _all_ of you!" Angrily, he spun toward the old woman. "What have you done to them!?"

Nikoa, still focused on cutting the fruit, smiled. "I've merely fed your hungry men, Baron. And in doing so…calmed them."

"You've drugged them!"

"I've done no such thing," she replied simply, lifting the sliced fruit into a bowl. "If you ask me, they have too many substances in their systems as it is! All I've done is merely…well…I don't think you'd understand." 

Enraged, Czethros stormed across the kitchen. He pulled his blaster out of its holster and aimed the barrel directly at the old woman's forehead. "I understand that it's time for you to die, you withered old bitch!"

"Oh, please, Baron, calm yourself," Nikoa chuckled, wiping her hands on her apron. "You don't want to kill me."

"Oh, really," Czethros snarled, pressing the barrel into the top of her head, "And why is that?"

"Because…I'm the only one happy to see you." The old woman's tone suddenly turned from bright to forebodingly serious as she lifted her gaze from beneath her brow to glare into his bionic visor. "I'm the one who brought you here." She lifted the bowl, offering its contents. "Parsin fruit?"

Czethros frowned even more "You…what?" He shook his head. "No, no, Burl Thutchen brought me here."

"Oh, Burl!" Nikoa chirped. "And how is Burl?"

"Dead."

She pursed her lips and sighed lightly through her nose. "Pity. Oh, my!" she gasped, setting the bowl down and reaching toward Czethros's face. "She did some damage, didn't she?"

"Huh? Oh," he muttered, touching the four gashes on his cheek. 

Nikoa came around the table to set her hand on his broad shoulder. "Baron, sit. Let me tend to those scratches before they get infected."

"I don't have time for—" Czethros roared.

"SIT. DOWN." Nikoa ordered with quiet wrath, pointing to a stool at the counter.

Czethros took a step to lunge at the woman, but stopped suddenly when he noticed her eyes. Already a dark hue, an ominous red ring encircled her irises, making them appear as smoldering coals, and he could swear he had just smelled a whiff of sulfur coming from her pores…hesitantly and not exactly sure why he was doing so, Czethros obeyed.

Nikoa's sinister expression instantly evaporated back into her sweet, motherly smile. "That's better. Now, let me just get the med kit." She turned around the counter and bent down to reach into a cupboard.

Holding his blaster in his lap and touching his face again, he gritted his teeth as he hissed, "I better not be scarred, or the little hellcat will pay dearly!"

"Actually, no she won't, Baron," Nikoa corrected as she came back, med kit in hand. Setting it down on the counter and opening it, she added simply and quietly, "And from this moment on, you will never touch her again. Do you understand?"

"What!" he scoffed incredulously. "Why, you presumptuous hag! Who do you think you are, daring to speak to me like this!"

"Me?" Nikoa shrugged. "I'm nothing more than a humble servant." She stopped applying bacta solution onto a swath for a brief moment, lifting her smoldering glare to face him again. In a voice as sharply delicate as tempered steel, she added, "However, if you want to get off this planet ALIVE, Czethros, it would behoove you to hold your volatile temper in check and listen to my every word."

The derisive smirk melted from Czethros' lip as he was held in the snare of the old woman's eyes. "What do you mean, old woman, get off alive?"

Nikoa clucked her tongue against her teeth as she began dabbing the bacta solution onto Czethros' gashes. "For someone as devious and ruthless as you are, Czethros, you are so delightfully naïve." She cocked her head slightly. "You have set foot in the Empire's most secret installation, and you know its coordinates." Her voice dropped even lower. "Do you honestly believe the Imperials are going to let you _live_?"

Almost instinctively, Czethros' shoulder blades tensed, and his throat constricted. The chill in his spine returned. Slowly, he turned his glare. "You're crazy. They won't kill me. They need me."

"Do they?" Nikoa asked casually. "Haven't all monetary transfers been signed and approved? And don't you think they've made a copy of your electronic signature already?" Czethros' face dropped. Nikoa chuckled murkily. "This is the Empire we're talking about, Czethros. Did you really think Daala would keep her word? With your signature, they can crack into every single code in your banking establishments. Pair that with a holographic image of your face, and…well, let's just say, you won't be missed. They'll take over all your Ord Mantell operations, clean out your accounts, use them as their own, and no one will even know you're dead."

His shoulders began to shake with rage. "No, NO! They can't do that to me!" He leapt of his stool, gesturing wildly with his blaster toward his oddly subdued men still seated at the tables. "They gave us armor, weapons! They gave us a fucking Destroyer! Why would they do all that if they were just going to kill me?"

Nikoa folded her arms over her thin chest, and tilted her head to the side. "Ah yes, the armor." She cocked an eyebrow. "Have any of your men sustained a hit in that armor, Czethros? Do you even know if it works?"

Czethros staggered for a moment, his lips twisting into a grotesque grimace over his teeth. He turned viciously. "Gwizzil! Get up!"

As the Rodian dazedly stood up from his seat, Czethros aimed his blaster and shot him in the shoulder. The red bolt of energy shot through Gwizzil's shoulder guard as easily as a spear through parchment. Chips of black plasteel and geysers of dark blood exploded in all directions as Gwizzil dropped into a squealing heap on the floor. 

All color drained from Czethros face beneath his visor as he lowered the blaster to his side. "Pick him up and get him to the med center," he ordered in a low rasp. As two of the mercenaries rose from their seats and carted Gwizzil out the door, Czethros slowly turned toward Nikoa, who still stood calmly, her arms folded.

"Do you understand now, Baron?" Nikoa asked in a softly gentle manner. "If you bring I'Lai up to their Destroyer, they will execute you and your men on the spot. If you do not, they will simply come and kill you here. You can't win, and there is no escape. You were doomed from the very beginning."

"How do you know all this?" he demanded breathlessly, stepping toward her slowly. "How do you know about Daala, and my bargain with the Empire? How did you—"

"I told you, Baron. I brought you here. This was all arranged."

Dread seared through Czethros' limbs as he came face to face with the old woman, who was obviously, _dangerously_ more than she appeared… "Who the hell are you?"

She lifted her gaze to meet his visor, and again, her dark eyes smoldered red, with tiny points of wan yellow sparking through them. "I am…" she began, her voice darkly resonant and almost mannish, "a messenger."

The room began to swim behind the woman in his sights, and he hastily grabbed the countertop to keep from wavering. "A messenger? From whom?"

"From he who will give you everything you desire, Baron…and more." Slowly, she began to circle around him as she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and her tone became that of a velvet lullaby. "My Master has been watching you for quite some time now. You possess the qualities needed: ambition, cruelty, intellect, tenacity, and leadership, but…you are undisciplined, reckless, reactive and myopic. My Master can broaden your mind, and hone your wildness into deadly precision." She stopped behind him, standing on her tiptoes to whisper into his ear, "And you will be rewarded beyond your wildest imagination."

Czethros managed a soft sardonic chuckle, despite the dark fog seeping into his consciousness. "My imagination can be substantially wild, old mother," he murmured. "Tell me, this master of yours…can he give me…the galaxy?"

Having come back to his front, Nikoa stopped and gazed into his visor as she simply answered, "Yes, Baron. He can."

Czethros stared down into the old woman's face. The computer ship within his visor de-scrambled the code the red vision sensor scanned, creating a three-dimensional image of her face within the visual receptors in his brain. It was only then that he really looked at her, at the oval bone structure of her withered face, the set of her wide, dark eyes, the high-arced cheekbones, the thick curl of her pinned-back hair… "Why do you look…" he whispered drowsily, "familiar to me…?"

She smiled gently, tilting her chin upwards. "And who do I look like, Baron?"

He felt as though a curtain had just been pulled over the window of his mind… "I…don't…remember…"

"Then it is of no importance, is it?" Her smile grew sweeter, broader as she gingerly cupped his face. "Tell me, Junius…are you willing to abandon this useless vengeance? Would you trade this blood feud with this paltry, insignificant bounty hunter for the opportunity to lead vast armadas? To overtake and crush anyone who has ever opposed or betrayed you? To have wealth and power beyond any mortal coil? To shape…an Empire?" She raised her face to just centimeters of his own. "To SEE again?"

A vision morphed into Czethros' mind, clearer than any image his visor could relay. Nikoa's face began to change, growing wider, longer, masculine. Her hair receded away from her forehead, transforming into small horns a top her head…and the sallow of her complexion deepened and swirled into slashes of scarlet and black while her eyes burned into twin pyres of flame…and her hands became hot against his cheeks as the sterile white of the surrounding kitchen darkened into an onyx landscape slumbering under a crimson sky…

A slow, blissful smile spread his mouth. He felt his heart swell within his chest, and he felt his loins pulse with anticipation of absolute power…Gently, almost lovingly, he raised his hand to touch the hand on his cheek. "Yes," he whispered. 

"Then," the grotesquely beautiful visage of black and red tattoos murmured silkily, "listen well, my lieutenant…"

* * *

Even as the air was dense with the roars of twin ion engines ripping through the skies of the Southern Hem, it was the SNAP! of a twig being crushed under a boot that jarred Lando Calrissian back into consciousness. Still lying twisted on his side, pinned in place by the massive barrel of the now-destroyed platform cannon, he slowly opened one eye to see the unmistakably white armored legs of an Imperial stormtrooper standing just a few meters from him.

"Report," he heard the stormtrooper bark through his vocoder.

"All dead over here," replied the second trooper, stepping toward the other and into Lando's line of view. He saw both pair of legs pivot in his direction. "What about those over there?"

"Let's check." The pairs of boots began to walk toward him.

Blinking hard to clear his fogged head, Lando frantically ran a mental scan over his shattered body. His right arm, on which he was leaning his head, was broken; but his left arm seemed intact, and was resting on his hip, just centimeters from his side arm…very, very slowly, he inched his left hand downward toward the butt of his blaster…

He heard one trooper step around the destroyed platform. "Two humans and a Rodian, all dead."

The other trooper came around to plant his feet just shy of Lando's head. "This one looks dead, too."

"Better make sure. Help me lift this off him." 

Lando still kept his eyes closed, listening carefully to the creaks and moans of charred metal as the troopers hoisted the barrel up off him, while his fingers unsnapped the holster and wrapped around the trigger… 

_Come on, Calrissian, light and quick and steady…_

Suddenly, the first trooper, still holding the barrel over his head, snapped his helmet down. "Hey, he just moved! He's alive!"

"Damn right!" Lando growled as he drew his blaster and fired right into the trooper's armored gut. The trooper dropped his end of the barrel right on top of his helmet, giving Lando the split second he needed to roll out from under and peel off another blast right into the second trooper's throat. The trooper fell back like a ton of durasteel, hitting the ground hard and the barrel hitting him even harder.

Lando fell back against the earth, panting hard. He listened carefully for any more troops for several long minutes. He heard nothing but the roar of TIEs off in the distance. _Most of the troops must be in the townships,_ he thought. _They only sent these two to scout this area._ _I have to get out of here before they come looking for them…_

His legs felt numb, having been crushed under the barrel for so long. Clenching his teeth, he tried to pull his legs up. Slowly and with great effort, he was able to bend his right leg up; he then tried the left…something was wrong. Something…didn't feel quite right, like his foot wasn't catching the ground…He pulled himself up to rest on his good arm and looked down…

His left leg, from the knee down, was gone.

Lando blinked a few times as his mind fought to comprehend what he was seeing. His pant leg was stained with blood all the way to the crotch. Feverishly, he looked back toward the fallen troopers, and saw his detached limb sticking out from underneath one of them. "No," he rasped. "Oh, no…" 

How did this happen? Was it the explosion? Or the charred, twisted cannon barrel slice it off? Ah hell, did it really matter at this point how it happened? 

His head began to churn and swim from loss of blood. He had to stop the bleeding, and fast. Frantically, he placed his blaster on his lap and, by pressing the tiny buttons on the grip, adjusted the blaster to torch setting. He pulled the trigger, and a small blue flame shot from the barrel. Lando braced himself, biting down hard on his lip as he brought the flame down upon the bloody stump, and screamed to the skies as he cauterized the wound.

He felt his consciousness begin to slip away again as he fell against the ground once more. He fought it. _No you don't, Calrissian. Don't you go now. Not like this. Not…like this…think…have to get help…need help…Han, Luke…they're coming…they could be here by now…_

His eyes snapped open as an idea instantly came to him. He pulled his blaster to his chin and clamped it there adjusting the buttons once again, before pointing it away from himself and blasting out a wide greenish haze in a rhythmic pattern.

"Han ol' buddy," Lando breathed shallowly as he fired, "I sure as hell hope you remember Birithi code…"

* * *

President Leia Organa, still wearing her delicate white gown, paced anxiously back and forth within her private office aboard the _Defiance_, silhouetted against the massive red sphere of Orri Alpha, the system's largest gas giant and most distant from its sun, Dia Prishina. Occasionally, she would stop and peruse the huge planet through the viewport. Dotted against its scarlet atmosphere were the forms of A-, B-, Y-, and X-wings, as well as other ships such as the medical frigate, six medium troop transports, five Tantive blockade runners, and the familiar, unmistakable silhouette of the _Millennium Falcon_. Delicately chewing on her thumbnail, Leia seemed to be more looking through the ships rather than at them before stepping back into her nervous stride.

"Leia," Winter chided gently from her seat on the office's austere sofa, "stop pacing. You're jostling the babies."

Leia's only response to her longtime assistant and surviving friend from Alderaan was a curt look. Hastily, she stepped off the port platform and strode to her desk, hitting the com button. "Has the reconnaissance drone returned yet, Admiral?" 

"Not yet, your Excellency," Ackbar replied for the fourth time in the last ten minutes, eloquently masking his slight frustration with the young president.

Leia irritably rubbed her brow. "Can't we just download the data from the drone processors?"

"You know we can't, Excellency. We can't risk the Imps picking up any communication signals. The drone must return physically, and then we can download the information. Leia," he added softly in his croaking voice, "It will only be a few more moments. We must know precisely what we are up against before we go charging into a blockaded system. Please be patient."

"Patient," Leia repeated dully, seating herself lightly on the desk's edge. "How much longer can we ask the people of Orri Prime to be patient?" Unconsciously, her hand came to rest upon her slightly protruding belly. "Or the governor and her baby?" It was then she realized that her voice was beginning to falter and would betray the intense wave of sadness now crashing over her. Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat. "Admiral, you will contact me as soon as the drones have arrived back into bay."

"Of course, your Excellency. Ackbar out."

Leia clicked the com off. She folded her arms over her chest, rounded her shoulders, and bowed her head. Winter waited for several long, quiet moments before she spoke again. "Leia…?"

"I must be getting soft, " Leia murmured, raising her head just slightly. "Force knows this is hardly the first time I've gone into battle. And yet, this time…I don't know, it just seems harder."

"Well, for one thing, this time you're pregnant," Winter pointed out. "Your hormones are a mess right now, Leia. You're bound to be a little more emotional."

"It's not that, Winter."

"Then what is it, Leia?" Again, she waited for her friend's response, but Leia did not reply. Winter rose from her seat and stepped toward her. "You're blaming yourself for this, aren't you?"

"Well of course I'm blaming myself!" Leia snapped heatedly, rising from the desk and resuming her pace. "I knew the Empire was lying in wait, just biding their time! But I thought they would hit larger, more prominent targets like Corellia or Naboo! I thought they would go after the shipyards or the food supply—"

"And you secured those places, Leia. You did exactly what you should have done! How were you to know they'd go after a mining world—"

"That's just it, Winter. I should have known! It's my job as President to know these things! It's my responsibility to protect these worlds! And what was I doing?" Leia's face darkened into a grimace of self-loathing. "I was throwing a party, basking in the glory of my own self-importance!"

"Leia, you were celebrating your marriage! There's nothing wrong with that—"

"Yes Winter, there is something wrong with that! Because of that, because of my own arrogance and complacency…another world may be destroyed."

Winter's breath caught in her throat at Leia's words. "Oh, Leia. Will you ever believe me when I tell you, over and over again, that Alderaan was not your fault?" 

Leia once again sank onto the desk, clasping her hands in her lap. "Maybe someday I will, Winter. But right now, you can't convince me that Orri Prime is not my fault."

* * *

*Cub*, Chewbacca rumbled from his throat, flexing his huge paw, *enough. I've heard less drumming on Kashyyk during Life Day."

"Huh?" Han grunted irritably before he realized that he had been anxiously rapping on the _Falcon's_ console nonstop for the last ten minutes. "Oh, yeah…sorry, Chewie." 

*Relax, cub.* Chewie pointed a furred finger at one of the monitor screens. *The recon drone has passed through the system undetected. It's making its way back to the _Defiance_ as we speak.*

"Well, it's taking its own sweet time, isn't it?" Crankily, Han spun his pilot's chair around at the sound of a low cough coming from the _Falcon's_ hold. "Could you guys keep it down back there! We're waiting for information here!"

Several helmeted heads leaned in to peek through the cockpit hatch. "Sorry, General," one of the Pathfinder troops muttered. They all glanced at each other and shrugged as they took their seats once again in the Falcon's hold.

Huffing through his nose, Han spun his chair back—and caught the narrowed-eyed dubious expression on Chewbacca's face. "What?" he snapped.

*I'm only going to say this once more, cub. RELAX, or I'll stuff you in a cargo bin and fly this mission myself.* Han glared at Chewie for a brief moment, then turned away toward the cockpit window. Chewie sighed. *Lando's my friend, too. Don't worry, we'll find him."

"Yeah, Chewie, we'll find him. But here's the question; just how DEAD will we find him?" Han murmured morosely. Propping his boot up on the console, Han pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is all my fault."

*Cub, don't start again--*

"Well, it IS, Chewie! Talon Karrde told me this would happen, he warned me! He told me that Black Sun and the Empire would team up! And what did I do? Absolutely nothing!"

*You reported it to the Council, that's all you could do. And they, being the flea-whelping bureaucrats they are, said they would 'look into it'. It's not your fault that they were wary to act upon the word of a smuggling kingpin. Besides, even if you knew they had teamed up, you still had no idea where or when.*

"Yeah, well…what I should have done was mass my own force and gone to Ord Mantell myself and dealt with Czethros head on!"

*Oh, sure,* Chewbacca grumbled sardonically, *Lead a band of Republic vigilantes to take down a one of the galaxy's most powerful businessmen for a crime you have no proof he did. Yup, that would reflect nicely on your wife, the leader of the free galaxy."

"Argh," Han growled, leaning his head back against the chair rest and setting his palms against his eyes. "Chewie, what happened to those simple days of running Imperial blockades with three metric tons of spice jammed under our floorboards?"

Chewie chuckled. *I think those days ended when a certain princess threw you down a garbage chute.* He softened a bit, putting a massive Wookiee paw on Han's knee. "He'll be OK, Han. You two are a pair of spider-roaches, impossible to kill.* 

* * *

The com on the desk buzzed with the voice of Admiral Ackbar. "Madame President, the recon drone has arrived intact."

"I'm on my way. Inform General Solo and the squadron leaders that the drones have survived." Clicking off the com, Leia strode toward the door linking her office to the bridge of the _Defiance_. "The drone made it back in one piece. Well, it's nice to know that we can make new technologies that work, too."

As the door slid open, Winter caught Leia's arm before she walked through. "Leia," she murmured to her friend, "This isn't going to be Alderaan. We're going to win."

Taking in a deep breath, Leia looked into Winter's eyes, a tough, defiant smirk playing across her lips. "Damn right we are," she whispered crustily before she marched through the door.

The bridge of the New Republic's flagship _Defiance_ pulsated with activity. Techs and junior officers swarmed over the deck, relaying information and messages to and from the dozens of pilots out in space and the squads of SpecForce troops onboard. Huge monitors set above the bridge blared maps and reliefs of the Dia-Orri system, while the enormous holographic projector set in the center of the bridge emitted the luminescent images of Republic ships within the Defiance's perimeter, including the _Millennium Falcon_ and the twelve X-wings that had come to be known as Rogue Squadron. 

"At ease," Leia said as techs and officers immediately snapped to attention in her presence. With Winter in tow, she made her way across the vast bridge to Admiral Ackbar seated in his captain's chair in front of the viewport. "Have we retrieved the drone's data yet, Admiral?"

"We're downloading it as we speak, your Excellency. It will only be a few moments."

Leia glanced toward the holograph. "Are we in contact with Generals Solo and Skywalker?"

"We can hear you loud and clear, sweetheart," Han's voice sounded from the loudspeaker. 

Leia, as did most everyone on the bridge, instantly smiled upon hearing Han's confident baritone. "General Skywalker, do you copy?"

"Rogue Leader here, Excellency," Luke answered chipperly. Instead of using the com, Luke decided to continue the conversation to his sister in his own way. _I'm here, Leia,_ he pathed. _Are you all right? I'm sensing agitation from you._

The serenity of the Light Side swept over Leia as she answered back, _I'm fine, Luke. Just…worried._ She breathed deeply. _Can you sense I'Lai?_

_Somewhat, but the link is vague. But she is alive, as is Kai._

_Thank the Force, _Leia pathed, bringing her hands to her face in relief.

Luke's voice drifted tenderly through her mind. _Leia, do not blame yourself for this, please. I can feel your guilt, and this is not the time. A Jedi must be in the present moment in battle, with no past and no future clouding your judgment. Focus on the task at hand._

_Yes, Master,_ she sent with light sarcasm, to which Luke let out a softly audible laugh.

"So," sounded the voice of Wedge Antilles over the speaker, "when do we get this party started, huh? Starting to get a little ansty up here!"

"I'm right there with ya, Wedge," Han said over the com. "I got a troop of Pathfinders in my hold about to break out the sabaac deck!"

"We are downloading the drone's data as we speak, gentlemen!" Ackbar croaked cantankerously, becoming annoyed with the impatience of youth surrounding him. "It would hardly behoove any of us to fly willy-nilly into a blockade of Imperial fighters without first knowing exactly what we are up against! Unless there are those of you who have some sort of death-wish up there—"

"Hey, I have absolutely no intention of dying today," came the bright, youthful voice of crack Rogue pilot Tycho Celchu. "Not after Winter has _finally_ agreed to go out with me."

For a brief moment, all activity stopped on the bridge as every head, including Leia's, turned toward the lithe, silver-haired young woman standing on the viewport dais. Leia's eyes widened a bit, and she cocked a delicate eyebrow as an amused smirk played across her lip. Winter's face exploded in a crimson blush as the congratulations and jibes of scores of pilots flooded the airwaves.

"Hey, way to go, Tycho!"

"What you do to get her to go out with you, Celchu? _Cry_?"

"Nice work, my friend!"

"Hey Celchu, can you give me some good groveling tips?"

"All of you just be quiet!" Winter snapped at the com mics overhead. "By Force, we're about to go into battle, not a stag party!" She threw her hostile glare at Leia as well. "And you—stop looking at me like that!"

"Did I say anything?" Leia drawled with feigned innocence.

"Leia, I've known you since we were six years old—and you can speak volumes without saying a word!" 

Admiral Ackbar could feel the heat beginning to swirl around his normally cool damp head, and was about to launch into a fiery diatribe about military discipline and focus and whatnot…until he found himself actually chuckling. The years of battle stress, the constant barrage, the loss and the pain and the endless running from the Empire had turned these young, half-trained, and undisciplined novices into crack pilots, keen strategists, and fearless warriors. And now, instead of barely-functioning discards, the New Republic had new weapons and vessels to rely upon. Instead of annoyed, Ackbar found he was actually pleased that his troops were relaxed and confident before battle. Besides, with Han and Leia and Luke and everyone else distracted with each other, he could calmly and quietly peruse the recon drone's data dotting across his viewscreen without interruption…

Or so he thought.

"Admiral," barked the Sullustan communications officer from his console, "I'm picking something up from the Orri Prime surface."

A hush fell upon the deck as all heads turned toward the com console. Ackbar rose from his chair. "Is it an Imperial signal?"

The Sullustan, still holding the headphone to his ear, shook his head. "I don't think so, not strong enough. It sounds like a low-frequency wave from a sub-light particle beam."

"It could just be chatter from all the blaster fire on planet," Leia offered. 

Again, the Sullustan shook his head. "I don't think so, Excellency. It's coming in bursts, in a rhythm…almost like it was _code_…"

"Code?" Han blurted. "Hey, Oebe, can you patch that through up here?"

"Sure thing, General. Stand by."

The low, thumping electronic signal fizzed through the Falcon's loudspeaker. Han sat grimly still, concentrating intensely on the rhythmic pops and pulses. The Pathfinder troops in the hold, unsure what to make of the sound they were hearing, became even more confused when Han Solo suddenly and most happily yelped and whooped from the cockpit.

"It's Lando!" Han shouted with gleeful relief through the com. "It's Lando! He's alive!"

A collective gasp swept through the _Defiance_, the _Falcon_, and every cockpit of every fighter throughout the Republic force, followed immediately by a wave of cheers. Leia rushed to the com console. "Han, how can you tell?"

"He's using Birithi code, sweetheart, an old smuggler's trick.. Lando and I used it to coordinate pickups and drop-offs in the old days. Good to know the Empire still hasn't caught on!"

Ackbar made his way to the console. "General Solo, what is he saying?"

"Well, my code's as little rusty, but I think it's to the tune of 'Where the hell are you guys?' Wait." Han paused, putting two fingers to his ear as he translated the latest series of pulses. "He's giving me his com frequency. Chewie, open a channel to four point three megs."

* * *

"Lando," Han's voice crackled over the tiny speaker, "Lando, do you copy? Lando! We got your signal!"

In spite of his devastating pain, a quiet and immensely grateful chuckle came from Lando's lips. Having crawled across the scorched ground and nestled himself under the twisted scrap of the cannon platform, he was now fumbling with his good hand for the comlink on his belt. "Han," he rasped through bloody phlegm, "Gods and hells, you sound prettier than a Twi'leki diva."

Cheers broke anew from all the Republic forces as Lando's voice came over their coms. On board the _Falcon_, Han smiled and sighed with relief. "You sound pretty damn good yourself, friend."

"Ah, don't start lying to me now, buddy," Lando chided with a harsh cough. "I sound like hell."

"Lando, are you all right?"

"Let's put it this way-- I won't be doing a lot of dancing at the victory celebration." He coughed again, and his tone turned serious. "I'm…I'm hurt pretty bad, Han." He paused as he struggled to get the next words out of his mouth. "My arm's busted up, I'm pretty sure I've sustained some major internal injuries, and…" he swallowed hard, "I've… lost my leg."

The Republic forces fell into a stunned silence. Luke drew his lips into a thin line. Leia dropped her head into her hands. Han clenched his eyes closed in angry frustration, running a hand through his thick hair. Chewbacca whimpered quietly.

Shaking himself straight, Han pressed on. "Lando, can you tell us what the situation looks like down there? Where are you?"

"I'm just a few hundred meters from Security HQ—or what's left of it. As far as I can tell, I seem to be the only survivor. They hit us good, Han."

"Baron," Ackbar interjected, "can you give us a rough estimate of their forces from down there?"

Lando sighed deeply, shaking his head. "It's hard to tell, but from what I can see, it's a typical Imperial smash-and-crash job. At least two TIE squadrons for the initial attack, now down to four ships just scouting the area." He leaned over to peek out around the wreckage. "I can hear scout walkers in the distance—sounds like two. And so far, they only sent a couple troopers to canvass this area—they probably thought they killed everyone during the first pass." He chuckled bitterly. "They were right."

"Did they find you, Lando?" Luke asked.

Lando's pained smile only grew. "Sure did, kid. Don't worry—they won't be bothering me again." His sentence was harshly cut off by another bout of thick, violent coughing.

"Lando, hang in there," Han said with gruff reassurance, "Don't you die on me, buddy."

Lando sank back against the torn and twisted metal, resting the com on his chest, his eyes sliding up to the azure Orri Prime sky. "Easy for you to say." He laughed quietly. "Don't worry, Han, I'm not planning on going anywhere, but…" His voice became weak and throaty as it trailed off, "I think I'll just take a little nap right now…"

Han let a few seconds pass. "Lando?" Silence. He bit into his lip. "LANDO?" His hand curled into a fist as he held his breath, as did the entire Republic collective aboard their ships…And along with everyone, Han let out a sigh of relief when he heard Lando's soft snores coming over the comlink.

"Admiral," Han snapped over the com, "Is that data coming in, like, oh, I don't know…TODAY? Do we have ANY idea how many Destroyers we're dealing with?"

"Yes, General Solo, we do. We're dealing with one."

Leia's head turned in astonishment. "ONE?"

"ONE?" Han exclaimed.

"One?" Luke repeated incredulously.

Ackbar nodded briefly, then turned toward his first officer. "Load the data," he ordered. As he made his way back to his seat, rows upon rows of data scanned across the bridge's monitors as well as those of all pilots. The hologram of the collective Republic forces was replaced with glowing image of the Destroyer _Imprimatur _and its surrounding escort of TIE fighters. "As you can see, we are dealing with a lone Victory-class Destroyer with, from what we have scanned, a standard regiment."

"Whoa, wait, hold the com," Han interjected. "Admiral, are you telling me that, for the first time since this war began, WE have the advantage?"

"Well, General…I wouldn't say we have an advantage, but…for once, we are not out manned or outgunned."

Leia stepped toward the hologram, aghast. "This doesn't make sense. Why would the Empire only send one Destroyer to take a planet?"

"If that planet was a provincial mining world with substandard defenses, it's not all that inconceivable," Luke interjected faintly, a lace of guilt threading his words.

"But still," countered Leia, "To attack a mining world with no indigenous refineries with only ONE Destroyer? It just seems…amateurish." She shook her head. "This just doesn't sound like the Empire."

"Remember, sweetheart," Han reminded her, "We're dealing with Black Sun here as well." He ran his hand over his mouth. "I dunno…maybe—"

*Maybe Czethros bought the Destroyer,* Chewbacca interrupted matter-of-factly.

Slowly, Han turned toward his first mate as realization slowly crept over him. "Come again?"

"What did he say?" Wedge asked.

*You remember what Talon Karrde told us. The Empire is hurting, its funds are worthless, they need help. On the other hand, Czethros is hungry for power, and he saw an opportunity arise that he couldn't pass up.* Chewie leaned back in his chair, giving Han an incredulous look. *This scenario never occurred to any of you?*

Han sat mildly stunned for a moment before his patented lop-sided grin over took his face. "Chewie, you're a genius! I take back everything I ever said about you."

*No, you don't.*

"What did he say?!" Ackbar croaked brusquely.

Han turned back to the com. "Admiral, my faithful first mate just hit upon an epiphany. He said—"

"Hold on!" Wedge interrupted curtly as his scanners went off. "Anyone else getting this?"

"Getting what?" Luke asked over the drone exasperated groans coming over the links.

Veering his X-wing around the northern pole of Orri Alpha, Wedge stated, "My scanners are showinga ship coming out of hyperspace. Are we expecting anyone else?"

"No, we're not!" Luke answered firmly, gripping his fighter's controls. "Wedge, follow that signal! All pilots, stand by!"

"Affirmed, Rogue Leader. Rogue Six standing by," Tycho answered. All the pilots of the escorting squadrons repeated his affirmation with their various call numbers.

As his X-wing cleared the rounded crest of Orri Alpha, Wedge checked his scanners again. Line by line, the image of the emerging ship connected itself into form, while tactical data ran along the bottom of the screen. "Cargo ship, modified, a Kuat Firespray 31…gods and hells…" 

(And in that Kuat Firespray 31 cargo ship, a certain armored bounty hunter, having just jumped from hyperspace and running his own scans, lifted his masked eyes from the monitor and peered out his window to see Wedge's X-wing careening toward him. Slumping back slightly in his seat, Boba Fett muttered jadedly under his breath, "Shit…")

Tearing his eyes from the scanner display, Wedge glanced out his cockpit window at the elliptical-shaped, heavily gunned vessel hurtling toward him over Orri Alpha's horizon, haloed by the red glare of its powerful ion engines. His hands scrambled over the control console as he shouted, "Enemy craft approaching! It's the Slave I! _Slave I!_"

"Oh, GREAT!" Han barked sharply, dropping his forehead into his hands and kicking the underside of the console, "This is ALL we need right now!"

"Boba Fett!?" Ackbar blurted over the com. "That's impossible! Boba Fett is dead!" 

Leia's eyes grew widely staggered as she threw her attention to one of the huge monitors. There, she saw the _Slave I_ glide across the screen, and thought she could actually make out a T-shaped visor through the cockpit glass…"No, Admiral," she murmured heavily, turning her gaze toward Ackbar, "Boba Fett is very much alive."

Ackbar's large amphibious eyes squinted. "Princess," he uttered disbelievingly, absently calling her by what had become more of a term of endearment rather than a formal title, "is there something you haven't told the rest of us?" Leia's only answer was her lids fluttering to the floor and her head turning away. Pulling a deep breath through his gills, Ackbar gruffly turned his attention back to the monitor. "Wedge, onscreen! Blasters ready!"

"Admiral, no!" Leia cried.

"Wedge, hang on! I'm coming up on your port side!" Tycho called.

"Tycho, get up behind his stern!" Wedge ordered. "I've got him targeted from the front!" 

"Wedge, he' throwing up his shields!"

"I'm on him, Tycho!" His finger curled around the trigger. "Target locked! Lasers—"

"Hold your fire, Wedge," Luke commanded softly.

With his finger still wrapped on the trigger, Wedge knit his brow. "What?" he shook his head, unsure if he deard Luke right. "But Luke, it's Boba Fett! What are you—"

"Don't question my orders, Commander!" Luke warned sharply, hitting the thrusters and steering toward Wedge's coordinates. "I said hold your fire! Tycho, you too! Both of you, fall back and flank me!"

"Yes, sir," Celchu answered dutifully, if somewhat reluctantly.

"General Skywalker, what do you think you are doing?" Ackbar demanded.

"Admiral," Luke answered calmly yet sternly as the _Slave I_ came within his artificial horizon, "trust me on this. Let me talk to him. Please."

"Admiral, listen to the kid," Han groaned grudgingly, gritting his teeth, "he knows what he's doing."

Ackbar threw his glare to Leia, who nodded pleadingly to him. He exhaled sharply. "Permission granted, General. But the channel stays open, understood? And I want a FULL explanation from all of you."

"Understood, Admiral. I'm attempting to open a channel." Luke lifted his gaze up from his instruments to peer out before him, just as the _Slave I_ was making its approach toward him. His communication sensors ran a variety of different frequencies before locking onto the right one. He took a deep breath. "_Slave I,_ this is General Skywalker of Rogue Squadron, do you copy?" Silence. "Rogue Leader to _Slave I,_ please affirm." Again, silence. Luke pursed his lips. "_Slave I,_ this is General Skywalker of—"

"I heard you the first time, Skywalker."

Now, most in the Republic forces had never even _seen_ the infamous bounty hunter Boba Fett (save for holonet images), much less heard his voice. So when Fett's flat, cold, and laconic synthesized tones hissed over the loudspeakers, the hair, scales, and feathers of every crewmember, troop, officer, and tech stood on end. Every single being, organic and mechanical, human and non, stopped whatever he, she, or it was doing and focused all attention on the nearest loudspeaker.

Luke's mouth twitched under his helmet's clear visor. "Then why didn't you respond?"

"Are we on a public channel?"

"Yes."

"There's your answer, farm boy."

Luke exhaled in frustration, wiping his gloved hand over his mouth before addressing the _Defiance_. "Admiral Ackbar, permission to speak to Boba Fett privately—"

"Absolutely not!" Ackbar snapped, rising from his chair. "Bounty hunter Boba Fett, this is Admiral Ackbar of the New Republic vessel _Defiance_. I _demand _to know your reasons for being here!"

"Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing," Fett replied dryly.

"We are here to defend a chartered world of the New Republic from immediate Imperial threat."

"Great job so far," came Fett's muttered response.

Ackbar's wide, thin lips twitched in irritation. "You will answer my question. What are you doing here?" The Admiral's query was met by a cold pause, the only sounds coming over the link being the light clicks of controls being employed.

After several long, excruciatingly silent seconds, Han snapped into the com, "Oh for Kest's sake, Fett, answer the damn question! You're here for I'Lai, aren't you?"

"Very good, Solo," Fett drawled mockingly. "For a minute I thought I'd have to start using flash cards."

"Governor I'Lai? What does _she_ have to do with _him_?" Ackbar asked, confused. He turned his large domed head back up to the ceiling mics. "What is she to you, Fett? Money? An Imperial bounty?"

"That is none of your concern, Admiral," Fett snarled quietly, with just the slightest hint of ferocity coming through his vocoded voice. "And frankly, you've wasted enough of my time." Gripping the controls, Fett swerved the nose of the _Slave I_ away from the three X-wings toward the sun…

"BOBA FETT!" Ackbar barked imperiously, his finned digits curling into fists at his sides as he glared at the monitor, "If you move one degree from your current position, I will give the order to have you blown out of the stars!"

Fett's low, murky synthetic chuckle grated over the airwaves. "Well then, Admiral… you'll just have to _blow_ me then, won't you?"

The usually cool and collected Admiral Ackbar slammed an uncharacteristic fist into the arm of his captain's chair. "That's it! Rogue Leader, lock on target!"

"Admiral, please, wait—" Luke pleaded.

"That's a direct order, General Skywalker!"

Luke clenched his eyes and swallowed with difficulty. "Aye, sir. Wedge, Tycho, ready proton torpedoes."

Wedge held the _Slave I_ in his focused glare as it rotated away and revved its engines. He flipped the lid up on his weapons controller. "Torpedoes readied, sir."

Han ran an edgy hand through his hair. "I can't believe I'm saying this," he muttered under his breath before shouting into the Falcon's com, "Fett, for once don't be a jerk! Stop! They'll blow you apart, they will!"

Leia rushed across the bridge, gripping the arms of Ackbar's chair. "Ackbar, please, call off the order!"

Ackbar looked down at her from his raised seat. "Leia, I don't what the hell is going on here, but you know better than anyone that Fett has repeatedly served as a hired gun for the Empire—"

"Yes, I know, Ackbar, but not this time! Please, you have to believe me!"

"Target locked onscreen, sir," Tycho Celchu reported.

Focused intensely on the Slave I projected across the huge monitor, Ackbar uttered, "Fir—"

"DELAY THAT ORDER!" Leia roared over the com.

In his X-wing cockpit, Luke let out an audibly relieved exhalation. "Wedge, Tycho, fall back. That's an order."

"Aye, sir," both pilots affirmed simultaneously, veering their fighters back into their flanking positions behind Luke's.

Han slumped back in his chair, throwing his head back and huffing at the bulkhead. Chewie slumped forward on the console and rubbed his already stressed eyes.

A wave of hushed shock blew over the entire bridge as all heads, mouths agape, turned toward the young president. Ackbar gaped at Leia in utter disbelief and slow, burning anger. She met his glare head on. "I'm sorry, Ackbar," she said firmly yet breathlessly, "but as Supreme Commander of the New Republic forces, I'm pulling rank. You've given me no choice." She stepped away from the captain's station, raising her chin toward the ceiling com. "Boba Fett, this is President Leia Organa. Can you hear me?"

"Your Excellency," Fett answered with dour deference.

Pulling herself straight and flexing her hands at her sides, Leia firmly and forcefully announced, "I want to HIRE you."

"WHAT?" exploded Ackbar.

"WHAT?" yelled Han.

"What?" Fett grunted.

Luke's only reaction was a slow, proud smile under his pilot's helmet.

Leia took a deep breath. "I want to contract you, as an independent mercenary, in this campaign against the Galactic Empire. Name your price."

In the cockpit of the _Slave I_, Fett paused, leaning back in his seat. "You couldn't afford me," he stated brusquely.

"Try me," she answered assuredly.

In spite of himself, Fett had to admit that every time he crossed paths with Leia Organa, he became a little more impressed with her each time. "Are we negotiating, your Excellency?"

"I was under that impression, yes."

"I don't negotiate in public. Close this channel, and then we'll talk."

Leia nodded. "Agreed." She stepped over to the communications station. "Lieutenant, shut down all comlinks, except those of the bridge and Generals Skywalker, Solo, and Rieekan."

"No deal," Fett growled. "You and I talk alone."

Leia's head snapped back toward the ceiling com. "Master Fett, if I am to hire you on this campaign, we must be in contact with the military commanders you will be working with in order to incorporate you smoothly." She raised her chin. "There is NO negotiating this aspect. If you refuse…" She closed eyes as she took a long, slow breath, "then you risk the chance of your son growing up without his father." She opened her eyes. "Am I understood?"

A collective gasp swept over the bridge. Ackbar already bulbous eyes grew even larger. Luke's breath caught in his throat. Even Han turned an incredulous gaze over to Chewie, raising his eyebrows and blowing a silent whistle. "And you wonder why I love her," he murmured with his crooked grin.

Every follicle on Fett's body stood on end at the thinly veiled threat as well as the mention of Kai. He ran his tongue along the underside of his teeth before gritting his jaw. "Perfectly understood," he muttered before adding distinctly and a tad contemptuously, "Princess."

"Good." She clasped her hands behind her back as she relaxed her stiff posture a bit. Turning toward the communications officer, she caught his nodded affirmation that he had performed her request. "Now, name your price." Only the cold silence of space fizzed through the speaker. "I'm waiting."

After several more silent moments, Fett finally spoke. "In lieu of a purse, Princess, I will waive my usual fee… for a _demand_."

"A demand?" Leia cocked an eyebrow. "And that is?"

"That I take the palace _alone,_" He leaned in closer to his console mic. "And Czethros is _MINE,_ with _no…questions…asked_."

"Absolutely not!" barked General Rieekan from the bridge of his troop transport, the _Gilardi_. "We're not about to hand the rescue of a New Republic official over to a common thug!"

"I prefer to think that I'm not all that common," Fett retorted dully.

"I always knew you were working with a bent spanner, Fett," Han muttered over the com with a derisive smirk in his voice. "You think you're just going to waltz into I'Lai's palace and take on, Force knows, how many Imperial stormtroopers single-handedly—"

"First off, Solo, I don't waltz. Secondly, there are no Imperial troops in the palace—just Czethros and his pack of rylled-out clowns."

Luke furrowed his brow, as did Leia in her position on the bridge. Their inner voices echoed in each other's mind as they both asked the same question, _How does he know that…?_

Han was also mildly confused, but he shrugged it off and pressed on. "Well, that's all well and good, but…we still come to the harsh reality that we don't even know if I'Lai is dead or alive!"

"She's alive," Luke, Leia, and Boba Fett all stated simultaneously. 

"How do you know that?" Leia demanded.

"Yes, Master Fett, how do you know she's alive?" Luke asked softly. "How did you know it's Czethros who holding her captive? For that matter, how did you know about the invasion, period? The Empire destroyed all the interstellar satellites, there was no way she could have contacted you."

Fett ground his teeth as Luke barraged him with questions; he felt angered frustration stewing in his gut. "It's none of your concern how I know, Jedi," he bit out. 

_Leia,_ Luke pathed to his sister, his mouth hanging slightly, _I think_ _Fett and I'Lai are Force-bonded._

Leia gasped slightly. _Luke, is that possible? I've never detected any Force ability in Fett._

_Neither have I,_ he sent back. _But… _Luke was about to press the bounty hunter further, but was cut off by Admiral Ackbar.

"No! I must protest this…absurd proposition!" Ackbar bellowed emphatically.

"I have to agree, your Excellency," added Rieekan. "We cannot allow some mercenary to use an act of war to satisfy a personal vendetta."

Leia sighed, and tightly shook her head. "I have to agree with Admiral Ackbar and General Rieekan, Master Fett. Baron Czethros has clearly attempted to steal Orri Prime's mining operation, and hence he must be brought before Republic justice—"

"Czethros doesn't give a rancor's ASS about the mining operation, Princess!" Fett spat over the com. "He doesn't want the ore." He clenched his gloved fist as he added quietly, "He wants ME."

"Oh, THIS should be good," Han muttered derisively over the com. "Fett, is there anyone in this galaxy you _haven't_ pissed off?"

"Only slightly less people than you have, Solo."

"Why does he want you?" Luke asked firmly.

Fett leaned back in his chair. "You know Czethros is blind?"

"Yeah, so?" said Han.

There was a pause before Fett answered straightforwardly, "_I'm _the one who blinded him."

Leia's hand settled over her pregnant belly, a gesture of unconscious consolation. "What happened, Fett?"

"I don't want to get into it," he answered curtly.

"Get into it," Leia replied sharply, then immediately softened her tone. "I would appreciate it if you told me, to let me know what sort of enemy we're dealing with here. I promise you, Master Fett, no one outside this conversation will hear about this."

Fett was about to tell Leia to go to hell, but abruptly changed his mind. He remembered that during the time he was detained and recuperating on Orri Prime, neither Leia Organa nor any of her faction had told anyone about his confinement. Indeed, Leia had even permitted his release at I'Lai's request, even when all of her advisors, he assumed, voraciously opposed it. And although rumors about him "faking" his death ran rampant on the holonet, the New Republic's official statement always sided with the original report that he had perished on Tatooine. And hadn't she just saved his ass from being shredded by three X-wings…? Hadn't she just extended him the opportunity to save his family? 'Trust' was not a word that exactly flourished in his vocabulary, but at that moment, Fett decided to brush the term off and use it—at least sparingly—with this former princess of Alderaan. 

"I did a job for Czethros about fifteen years ago, when he was still a C-grade foot soldier for Xizor. When I came to collect my fee, I found him in the storeroom of a cantina he was running." He paused as he took a shallow breath. "Where he was raping a fifteen year old human girl." 

A shared breath of unease swept over the bridge. Leia cleared her throat, as it had just constricted with disgust. "What did you do?"

Fett clamped his eyes shut as that long-ago girl's screams of terror and torture tore through his memory. "I threw a stun grenade into the room. My purpose was to stun them both long enough to get the girl out of there…but I let my anger take over, and I miscalculated my throw. The grenade went off in Czethros's face." A bitter chuckle escaped his lips before he continued. "I grabbed the girl, put her in my ship, and took her back to her family…and Czethros has been after me ever since."

Silence hissed over the com until Han broke it. "Is that true, Fett?"

"No, Solo, I made it up because I thought it was funny," he snarled. Fett straightened his posture, and spoke in a low, rock-solid tone. "President Organa, I know what this son of a bitch is capable of, and I know how to deal with him and his kind. He couldn't kill me for fifteen years, so now he's gone after my mate and my son to lure me in." Leia's eyes widened at Fett's use of the word, "mate." Fett continued. "If he wants me that badly…" His tone became even more menacing, "Then let him HAVE me."

Leia shifted her gaze to the deck as she pondered Fett's request. Admiral Ackbar rose from his chair and stepped toward her. "Leia, you can't seriously be thinking of permitting this?"

"Sweetheart," Han appealed, "even if you could trust him, we're talking about one man going up against a small army!"

Leia clenched her eyes. _Luke…? _

_Leia, don't ask me. Ask your feelings, your heart…what does the Force tell you? _

Slowly, Leia lifted her head, eyes still closed, her face serene, almost rapt, as she called to the Force…all upon the bridge held their breath as they waited upon her decision…

In a medley of sudden movements, Leia's eyes snapped open, her head jerked up toward the ceiling com, and she took three fierce, potent steps forward. "Boba Fett, you will take the palace and free the governor and her son."

"Leia!" Han barked.

Ackbar threw his finny hands up in frustration. "This is ridiculous!"

"Gentlemen, please!" Leia snapped. She turned back to the com. "On two conditions."

"Those being?" Fett grunted warily.

"The first is that you will have a squadron of SpecForce Pathfinders backing you up. You will go in as first strike, but once you have infiltrated, you will contact them for second wave. You will also be in audio contact with the _Defiance_ at all times."

Fett cursed under his breath—he was never one for being a 'team' player. "And the second?"

"You will bring Czethros back here _alive_."

"And unharmed, I assume?" Fett asked with a slight groan on disappointment.

Although her expression remained passive, a slight narrowing of her eyes and a tilt of her chin belied Leia's inner thoughts. "Just…alive. We do have the medical frigate at our disposal."

A slow, impressed grin formed under Fett's Mandelorian helm. "As you wish, Your Excellency."

"Then we are agreed?"

"We…are agreed."

Leia did her best to suppress the smile battling to spread across her face by clamping her lips into a thin line. Turning on her heel, she walked back toward the communication console. "Lieutenant, re-open all public channels and holographic projectors. Admiral," she said softly, turning a firm yet contrite countenance toward him, "I hand this operation back into your hands."

Ackbar gazed at the young president, his large opaque eyes stern and a perhaps a little wounded, before nodding once. "Thank you, your Excellency. Tactical, load recon drone data into public channels."

"Aye sir."

_Just alive?_ Luke's disembodied voice echoed through Leia's mind, and she could feel his mild displeasure. _Not very Jedi of you, Leia. You must be fully aware Fett's going to hand Czethros over to you beaten into paste. _

_Luke, _she sent back with a hint of icy diplomacy threaded through her transmission,_ What if it was Han, and I was the one being held captive by a violent psychopath? Would you be so quick to judge then? Maybe compromise is not always the Jedi way, but sometimes…it may be necessary._

Sighing, Luke turned his attention to the tiny hologram playing across his X-wing's projector.

"As you all can see," Ackbar declared, stepping off his raised dais and stepping toward the holographic projection, "We are dealing with only one Imperial Destroyer. However, don't let that fact go to your heads—one Imperial Destroyer is still one too many in my book. Orri Prime relief." The holographic image blurred and fizzled into the cool, bluish-grey sphere of Orri Prime. The tiny shapes of TIE fighters dotted the planet's stratosphere. "There appear to be two blockades set, one here in the Northern Hem, and one here closer to the equator. Luckily for us, all six TIE squadrons will be spread pretty thin between the manning the blockades and patrolling the Destroyer so, General Skywalker, you will take Rogue Squadron in as first wave—" He stopped when a soft, derisive snort came over the com. "Who is that?" the Admiral demanded. "Who did that?"

Admiral," Han piped in, "I'll give you three guesses, and Chewie and I are not the first two."

Ackbar narrowed his amphibious eyes. "You have a concern, MASTER Fett?"

"What are you going to use as a decoy?"

Ackbar stopped, and craned his domed head toward the com loudspeaker. "Pardon me?"

"A decoy," Fett repeated petulantly. "What are you using?"

"Master Fett," Ackbar replied with equal annoyance, "Why would we need to employ such a device as a decoy when we are manned well enough—"

"Because the second you leave orbit of this planet, the Imps' scanners will pick you up more easily than Bantha hair picks up shit. It'll only be a matter of seconds before every TIE in those squadrons will be on those X-wings. And then your whole element of surprise is pretty much fucked."

Quiet titters and incredulous gasps flittered about the bridge as Ackbar folded his arms over his chest. "I have always held that the use of decoys should not be a part of civilized combat, Master Fett."

"No wonder you've gotten your asses handed to you so many times."

Ackbar's salmon complexion burned into a dark red as he blew a sigh of utter aggravation through his gills. "Fine, Master Fett, suppose we do employ a decoy. What do you suggest we use?"

"You use me. I fly in ahead; they'll pick me up on their scanners. I keep them busy, and then you launch your first wave." A smirk crossed his lips under his helm. "They won't be expecting me, and it'll cause confusion. Plus, it'll give me a head start into atmosphere."

"You're crazy, Fett," Han piped in with a scathing snort. "They could deploy up to forty TIEs on you. How are you going to take on that many?"

"Easy, Solo. You do to them what they did to Orri Prime. You knock out their communications."

"And just how do you propose we do that?" General Reeikan asked.

"Just leave that to me," Fett replied flatly. He reached into a bin under the _Slave I's_ cockpit console, and pulled out the small silver disc marked _Music From Earth. _Slipping it into the silver-plated player on the console, he added, "I have my ways."

Ackbar grimaced, turning a bemused look toward Leia Organa, who simply nodded. He turned away. "Very well, Fett. You will act as our decoy, once the battle briefing is over and we give you the signal—"

"Bye," Fett grunted in a flat monotone as he punched the engines, and the _Slave I_ tore from its position in a blaze of red light and fury.

"What the—" Ackbar bellowed as he watched the Slave I growing ever smaller on the monitor. He had finally reached the end of his rope. "FETT! Gods and Hells, get back here or I'll—"

"Don't shrivel your gills, Admiral," Fett snarled, veering the _Slave I_ into an elegant arc around and away from Orri Alpha. "Just watch and follow my lead." 

The bridge broke out into pandemonium as Ackbar began barking orders and techs and officer scurried to carry them out. "Rogues Squadron, ready positions and standby! Gold Squadron, Grey Squadron, Green Squadron, stand by! Bay Four, re-launch recon drone and hone it in on the _Slave I's_ signal! Tantive Armada, align strike positions behind the _Millennium Falcon_! Transport Armada…" As Ackbar fired off orders, the coms spewed forth the affirmations of all commanders involved.

Fuming, Ackbar threw an angry glare at Leia. "President Organa, with all due respect…you better know what you're doing."

"I do, Admiral," she answered with quiet composure. She paused for a moment, her gaze firm, before adding, "Trust him."

* * *

"Report," said Admiral Pellaeon to the shimmering hologram on the _Imprimatur's _bridge.

A tall officer, wearing an Imperial ground force helmet and with meticulous looking features, lifted his holographic chin. "Admiral Pellaeon, General Maxinoy here. I am pleased to report that all enemy militia forces have surrendered and are in Imperial custody."

_Enemy militia,_ Pellaeon mused silently. _A group of freed slaves, barely trained. Hardly a sweet victory, is it? _"Where are they being kept?"

"In the mines, at the moment, until they are all identified with barcodes and the force shielding is installed around the townships. We have set up a temporary HQ in the Atimbora Township Hall—"

"Are there many wounded, General?" Pellaeon interjected.

Maxinoy smirked proudly. "Fortunately, no, Admiral. Imperial casualties were minimal, and they have been promptly tended to—"

"I meant the Orrians, Maxinoy. Are there many wounded in their numbers?"

The General knit his brow slightly. "Uh…yes sir, enemy casualties were heavy, but—"

"But they are being tended to, correct?" Pellaeon asked with a raised brow.

"Sir?" Maxinoy asked, his brow furrowing into even deeper wrinkles of puzzlement.

Pellaeon narrowed his eyes and set his jaw firm. "I didn't send four medical shuttles down there for show, General! Tend to the enemy wounded, and those whose injuries are too great for field dressing will be transported to the medical bay here! Understood!"

"Aye, sir."

"And I want all Orrians coded and back in their homes before nightfall! Is that clear?"

"Aye, sir," Maxinoy replied, drawing his already thin lips into an even thinner line before signing off his hologram. 

Pellaeon's eyes felt suddenly dry. Reaching up to rub them, he let out a long, weary sigh through his nose just as he heard a young male voice behind him ask softly, "Sir?" He turned to see Captain Rhys standing behind him, wearing a vexed expression. 

Pellaeon stared at the younger officer, but seemed to be looking more through him than at him. He lifted his red-eyed gaze to the _Imprimatur's_ bulkhead before murmuring, "I'll be in my ready room if there is anything further to report." Turning on his heel, Pellaeon began to stride across the bridge…

"Admiral!" one of the navigational officers exclaimed from his pit, "Incoming vessel! Starboard side!"

Stopping in his tracks, Pellaeon turned. "Is it one of ours?"

"Negative, sir. It's coming from the other side of the system."

"Lock on its coordinates! Onscreen!"

The officer's hands flew over the sensor console until the sensor cameras locked onto the small speck hurtling through the void outside, growing ever larger on the _Imprimatur's_ gigantic monitor. "Sensors transmitting…" the officer reported, "A Kuat model…a Firespray 31, highly modified—"

"A Kuat Firespray?" Pellaeon muttered under his breath as he stepped closer to the monitor. 

Captain Rhys came up beside his superior officer, mouth slightly agape as he perused the screen. "It can't be…" He turned to Pellaeon. "Boba Fett?"

"Admiral! Incoming vessel is changing course!"

"Keep on him! Dispatch TIEs!" Pellaeon barked. 

The nav officer paled. "It's heading right for the bridge!" All heads snapped toward the bridge's viewport, and all eyes saw the _Slave I_ veer in a graceful sweep around and careen sideways right toward them…

"HIT THE DECK!" Rhys screamed as he hurled his arm around Pellaeon's shoulders and dropped them both to the ground. All bridge and tech officers frantically joined them, diving to the deck and throwing their hands over their heads as the _Slave I_ was about to impact…

But suddenly the _Slave I,_ just meters from hitting the viewport's force field, spiraled up and over the bridgetower. The energy from its thrusters lathed across the port's glassine surface in rivulets of neon red as the engines roar shook the very bulkhead of the bridge.

Fett pulled the throttle down and over and fired off the stabilizer fins, arcing the _Slave I_ once again over and around the massive ship. As he came up under the _Imprimatur's _belly, he saw five TIE fighters hurling toward him. "Now that I have your attention," he grunted under his breath, and a grin crept over his lips under his helm.

(Still positioned within the Republic's convoy, Han Solo grimaced as he watched Fett's onslaught via the recon drone's signal. "Bastard stole my move," he muttered to Chewbacca.)

"Sir," Rhys panted as he scrambled to his feet and lifted Pellaeon from the deck, "Are you all right?"

Regaining his footing, Pellaeon irritably tugged down his uniform jacket and whirled around to the com officer. "Get Sword and Shiv Squadrons up here—NOW!" As the com officer barked the recall of pilots from planetside, Pellaeon gritted his teeth and threw a furiously baffled glare at the viewport. "What the HELL is Boba Fett doing here? He's supposed to be DEAD!"

"Could it be, sir," Rhys offered, still trying to catch his breath, "that he's working with Czethros?"

Pellaeon narrowed his eyes as he let out a crude and highly uncharacteristic curse. "That double-crossing spawn of a Huttese whore! Lieutenant, how many more are out there?"

"None, sir," the sensors' officer reported, "Just the _Slave I."_

"Just one?" Rhys's mouth dropped slightly agape as his brow puckered. "Fett is attacking an Imperial Star Destroyer…_alone_?"

…………

Fett thrust the throttle down, dipping the nose below the path of the oncoming TIE fighters. The TIEs, in response, followed suit, spewing forth a mad flurry of cannon shots behind him. Banking hard, he veered the _Slave I_ level again, hurling just underneath the _Imprimatur's_ belly and through haze of blaster fire from the bottom-mounted turrets, heading toward the stern facing planetside and watching the dozens of twin-paneled specks emerging from the atmosphere, speeding toward him…

He hit the com. "Ackbar, stand by for my signal. When I say go…give order to attack."

"Affirmed," Ackbar croaking voice crackled through the com. "All squads standing by."

While controlling the ship with one hand, Fett's other hand flew over the command console. "Ee'ui taa (Computer)."

"Cu nata (Affirmative)," responded the Slave I's oddly feminine synthesized voice.

"Cu'aye t oot pwanai oi prenere ee'ui saastna (Load Victory-class Destroyer communication speculations)."

"Cu nata."

As the Mandelorian-speaking computer performed the command, Fett spoke to his helm. "Targeting system." Within his visor, the electronic data of the targeting system pinpointed the oncoming TIEs before him, enabling him to blast the leading three fighters into shrapnel while he waited for the information to load…

"Pwanai oi prenere ee'ui saastna tua'ki t (Victory-class Destroyer communication specs fully loaded)." 

Hitting the thrusters and banking the throttle hard port side, Fett flew right through the explosion of one of blasted TIEs. Calmly and seemingly indifferent to the swarm of TIEs chasing him, he perused the data flying across one of the many small monitors mounted above and below the cockpit viewport. Line after line popped across the screen as the technical specs of the _Imprimatur _were displayed before him until he saw exactly what he was looking for…hitting the throttle hard up, he performed a graceful loop up and over the chasing TIEs, heading back toward the Imprimatur's top decks. "Ee'ui taa."

"Cu nata."

"Oi-cun Impri ee'ui prebare t cua ke (Find Imperial communication frequency and lock on)."

"Cu nata."

Fett banked the ship hard one more time until he was skimming directly over the deck, TIEs still in chase and still firing, their shots bouncing off the Slave I's powerful deflector shields. As another dozen TIEs ascended over the tip of the bow heading straight for him, _Slave I's_ computer chimed, "Impri ee'ui oi-cun hada (Imperial communication frequency found and locked)."

"Cua' di niaati pre (On speaker)." Quite suddenly, the cockpit was flooded with the dozens of voices of the Imperial TIE pilots as well as the _Imprimatur's _main communications officer…

A soft curve of a satisfied smile tugged at Fett's lips. With one foot controlling the throttle, one foot firing the thrusters and one hand tapping out blaster shots from the rotating turrets, he reached over the console, his gloved finger just hovering over the "PLAY" button on the odd little contraption with the _Music From Earth_ disc inside… 

Just as the commander of the slew of TIEs clearing the Destroyer's bow exclaimed into the com, "Imprimatur, this is Sword Leader! We've got him completely surrounded! He can't go anywhere now!"

On bridge, Pellaeon clasped his hands behind his back and ordered gruffly, "Fire at will."

"Affirmative, Admiral. Sword Squadron, this is Sword leader! On command, rapid fire! And…"

At precisely that moment, Fett hit the PLAY button of the portable CD player that was hooked directly into the Slave I's sensor jammers. The little electronic signal coursed through the cabling system, into the sensor jammer's main computer ship, and out through the jammers directly above the _Imprimatur's_ main communication amplification dish…

"FIR—"

Sword Leader's command was suddenly and deafening drowned out by an earsplitting, barely-pubescent male's voice that ripped through every speaker on the _Imprimatur_ and earpiece of every Imperial pilot—

_AAAAAHHHH--Can't Stand It!_

_I Know You Planned It!_

_But I'm Gonna Set It Straight,_

_This Watergate!_

Every pilot in every TIE all screamed at the same time, sending their fighters swerving and careening as they let go of the controls, trying to rip their helmets off. All hands of the bridge crew of the Imprimatur flew up to their ears as the blaring cacophony of voice and loosely rhythmic clamor bounced off the bulkhead and the deck—

_I Can't Stand Rocking When I'm In Here  
Because Your Crystal Ball Ain't So Crystal Clear_

"Lieutenant!" Pellaeon bellowed over the excruciating din, "shut it off!"

_So While You Sit Back and Wonder Why  
I Got This Fucking Thorn In My Side!_

Wincing from the sheer agony of the atrocious music, the com officer's hands beat and pounded on every switch and button on the console. "Admiral, I can't! I can't shut it off! He's overridden the command codes!"

_Oh My God, It's A Mirage!_

"He's _WHAT?!"_

_I'm Tellin' Y'all It's a Sabotage!_

"I always did like this song," Fett muttered quietly to himself, his head unconsciously bobbing to the beat of the cataclysmic throng as he punched the thrusters and hit the stabilizers and pulled the Slave I out of the way of several TIEs just nanoseconds before they collided.

Balls of flame flashed over the _Imprimatur_ and through its viewports, while jettisoned wing panels, engine parts, and limbs crashed through the cockpit portals and into the wings of the already distracted and deaf TIE pilots. The formerly tight-knit groupings of the TIE fighters disintegrated into a disarray of confusion and chaos, with fighters careening in all directions…

…………………

The bridge crew of the _Defiance,_ as well as every pilot, trooper, tech, and droid in the Republic fleet, all gaped at their holoprojectors and monitors in dumbfounded shock as they watched the _Slave I_ take the Imps on.

"Kest and Krinick!" Tycho Celchu sputtered through his com, "Look at him go!"

In his X-wing, Wedge shook his head. "They're just flopping around like headless womprats! What the hell did he do to them?"

"He's amazing," Luke murmured through a soft smile, highly impressed by Fett's piloting skills. 

"He's nuts," Solo muttered back. The derisive Wookiee snort that came from the seat beside him did not escape Han's attention. "What, furball?"

*Oh, nothing, cub. Except I wish I had a credit for every time someone said that about YOU…*

……………….

As Fett swerved the _Slave I_ up and around toward a loose grouping of disabled fighters, he lightly touched the MUTE button to the speakers and hit the com. "Ackbar," he said calmly as his finger wrapped around the cannon trigger, "they're all yours." With that, Fett hit the PLAY button once again…

_'Cause What You See You Might Not Get  
And We Can Bet So Don't You Get Souped Yet  
You're Scheming On A Thing That's A Mirage  
I'm Trying To Tell You Now It's Sabotage!_

And the horrific music filled the cockpit once again as he pulled the trigger and began to mercilessly blast every disabled TIE fighter in his way toward Orri Prime's atmosphere…

…………

"Ackbar…they're all yours."

Fett's words coming over the Republic fleet's com ignited an outbreak of activity throughout the fleet. The Tantive blockade-runner armada aligned itself into position, backed by the convoy of troop transports, with the Millennium Falcon sandwiched between them. 

Admiral Ackbar rose from his seat, placing his webbed hands on his hips. He looked down to Leia Organa, who stood just a few meters from his raised dais and returned his look with a softly confident smile. "Republic Fleet," barked Admiral Ackbar, resuming his seat, "ENGAGE!"

Breathing deeply to attune himself with the Force, Luke calmly ordered through the com, "OK, Rogues, let's go!"

"PUNCH IT!" hollered Tycho with unrestrained glee.

"Locked and loaded!" added Wedge.

"Finally!" Han exclaimed. "Chewie, full throttle!"

Scores of other ecstatic battle cries filled the comways as every Republic vessel, large and small, every fighter, transport, blockade runner, and frigate launched themselves over the apex of the massive red gas giant that had served as their fortress. As graceful and beautiful as a flock of Yavin avril, the Fleet glided through the velvet blackness in perfect unity toward the grayish-blue sphere of Orri Prime far off in the distance…

And as the billowy white clouds of Orri Prime grew larger and denser in his view, Boba Fett briefly closed his eyes as words formed in his mind…

_I'Lai…beautiful swi'la nai, …I'm coming… _

Still sitting in her chair and cradling her infant son, I'Lai slowly raised her head as her breath caught in her throat, and her heart leapt with hope as she whispered…

"Boba…?"

* * *


	11. Bad Company

Episode II

Chapter 10

Bad Company

_Company, always on the run_

_Destiny is a rising sun_

_I was born, six gun in my hand_

_Behind a gun, I make my final stand_

_That's why they call me_

_Bad Company_

_I can't deny_

_Bad Company_

_Till the day I die._

Bad Company

"Admiral!" shouted the voice of the _Imprimatur's_ communication officer from the nav pit. Crackles and pops dotted the horrific din of the music. "Fett is descending into the atmosphere! The signal seems to be diminishing!"

Pellaeon's sigh of relief mimicked that of every other officer on the bridge. Putting a hand on Captain Rhys's shoulder, he ordered loudly, "Good. Get communications back on line!"

The com officer's head peeked slightly over the pit's edge, revealing a pair of large eyes brimming with contrition. "And now the bad news, sir."

Pellaeon raised a worried brow. "What?"

Gritting his teeth, the com officer replied, "He's downloaded a virus."

In an instant, the images on every screen and monitor on the bridge fizzed and pixed. The holopics of the frenzied action and carnage outside all melted together into an image of Boba Fett's personal symbol, the horned alien animal skull that had been embellished on his former armor. The skull's jaws opened, and the cacophonic music was replaced by a low, hearty demonic laugh that rang throughout the bridge, the speakers on every deck, and the earpieces of every stormtrooper and tech on the ship.

"Sir!" cried another pit officer, "the virus has infiltrated every holo and com system! All systems are down!"

Pellaeon spun around toward a nearby monitor. The skull morphed again, this time forming the image of a glove hand balled into a fist…with the middle finger extended straight up.

The Admiral's heart pound fiercely in his chest as adrenaline surged from his core. His firm demeanor evaporated into all out rage, as he found himself capable of nothing more than standing in his place, his fists shaking …

"Admiral!" Captain Rhys shouted from the tactical console, "Ionic sensors are still online, and we're picking up a reading!"

Pellaeon spun furiously and marched to the console. "AND?"

Rhys's ashen skin paled even more as he turned over his shoulder and rasped, "Rebels."

"Admiral!" the _Defiance's_ navigation officer cried out, "The _Slave I_ is heading into the atmosphere!"

"Damn it!" Ackbar barked, pounding his finny fist once on the arm of his command chair. "We haven't even reached the blockades yet! Rogue Leader!"

"Yes, Admiral!" Luke instantly replied.

"Forgo earlier orders! Take Rogue Squadron planet-side—"

"And cut a hole in the northern blockade!" Luke excitedly finished for him.

"Exactly, General," Ackbar affirmed, still focused but just a tad annoyed that the young Jedi pilot had read his thoughts before he spoke them…again.

"Aye Admiral! Rogues, flank me! We're backing Fett up!"

"Aye, Luke!" came the Rogues' collective response. In unison, the squad of X-wings gracefully banked to their port sides and hurled themselves toward the Kuat Firespray racing toward the planet's surface…

The corner of Fett's mouth crooked up just slightly as the explosion of the TIE fighter he had just blasted bloomed across his visor. His pleasure, however, was short-lived when the alarm of the rearview monitor began to bleep. He cast his eyes up over the viewport to see the blips of incoming X-wings dot the screen. "What the hell are you doing, Skywalker?" he snarled into the com.

Luke dipped the nose of his X-wing and banked the throttle hard, spinning his ship into a dazzling spiral under the _Slave I_. "Just lending a hand, Fett!" he chirped as he came up from under him.

"I don't need your help!"

"Oh no?" Once clearing the _Slave_, Luke arced the X-wing up and over Fett's ship and fired at the TIE catapulting directly at them. As the Imperial fighter exploded into pieces in a brilliant flash, Luke added, "I'm pretty sure that guy thought you did."

Before Fett had the chance to bite off a Mandelorian affront concerning Luke's ancestry, the rest of Rogue Squadron swarmed all about and in front of the _Slave_. Blaster bolts of red and green blurred across Fett's viewport as he watched the crack Republic pilots peel the blockading TIEs up and away from their defensive line drawn in space. "FETT!" Luke's voice crackled through the com, "You're clear! GO! Wedge and I will hold your back!"

Without a single utterance of gratitude, Fett plunged his booted boot against the thruster ped and sent the _Slave I_ spiraling into the billowy swath of Orri Prime's upper atmosphere. Luke and Wedge's X-wings flanked him in perfect sync, leaving the frenzy and chaos of the space battle behind them…

…………

"ADMIRAL! ROGUE SQUADRON HAS ENGAGED THE NORTHERN BLOCKADE!"

Ackbar leapt to his feet as he bellowed, "Tantive Armada, GO!"

"WOOOOOO! Excellent work, kid!" Han Solo yelped. "Chewie, let's go hunt this dog!"

With her thrusters flaring, The Millennium _Falcon_ exploded forward, leading the array of five Tantive blockade-runners toward the battling flurry of Imp and Republic fighters…

"Blue Squadron, ENGAGE!"

Ackbar's call prompted the squad of A-wing fighters to tear forth toward the hulk of the Imperial Destroyer _Imprimatur,_ cannons blasting as what was left of the Imperial Sword Squadron hurled at them head on…

"Blue Leader!"

"Yes, Admiral!"

"Inform your pilots, no heavy fire around the bridge tower! Pull all TIEs away, and cut a hole for the troop transports! I want whoever is commanding that Destroyer taken _alive_…"

…………

Orri Prime's mountainous surface streaked in a kaleidoscope of greens and blues under the speeding Kuat Firespray and the two X-wings hurled out of the stratosphere.

"Luke, incoming Interceptors! Southwest!"

"I see 'em, Wedge! Fall back, and keep on Fett! I'm going in and pull them out!"

"You're going to get yourself killed, Skywalker!" Fett bit over the com.

"Why Fett," Luke replied, with a snigger to his tone as he launched his X-wing over the _Slave_ I and hurled forward, "You almost sound as if you gave a damn."

Fett drew a breath as if to snarl a retort, but then abruptly stopped as Luke's words sunk in…

"Don't worry about me! Just fall back some and cover me!" With that, Luke's X-wing sped up and ahead toward the number of TIE Interceptors hastily approaching.

With a grunt and harsh jerk of the throttle, the bounty hunter banked his ship a hard port and sped after Luke, with Wedge Antilles bringing up the rear.

Luke himself banked hard and pulled the throttle down and around, making a neat loop down, under, and up toward the approaching TIEs, but his thumb remained still and poised just beside the trigger of his blasters. No, he wasn't targeting them right now; at least, not with his guns. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and called to the Force, seeking something, _someone_, out in particular…

Watching Luke through his viewport, his own gloved finger itching on the trigger of his cannons, Fett narrowed his eyes through his visor. "What the hell is he doing? Why isn't he firing?"

"Settle down, Fett," Wedge admonished through the com. He smiled slightly as he added, "I think he's taking a different approach."

A smirk played across Fett's lip at the sheer boldness of the Rebel pilot's scold. Muting his com, he again spoke to _Slave_'s computer. "Ee'ui taa."

"Cu'nata."

"Oi-cun Rebe ik- dottaa' ee'ui prebare t cua ke. (Find Rebel X-wing communication frequency and lock on)…"

The psyche of the Imperial Squadron Commander bloomed across Luke's closed eyes, and he smiled softly as he spoke to him through his own mind…

_You will abandon your mission now._

"X-wing directly underneath us! Six, Seven, break off and—" The commander of the Imperial TIE Interceptor Havoc Squadron abruptly halted his order as new words formed in his mind… "Abandon mission."

"Abandon??? But sir—"

_He dare question your orders?_

"You DARE question my orders?"

"Uh…no, no sir," the young Imperial pilot stammered.

_Your sensors are malfunctioning._

"Our sensors are malfunctioning."

_The ships we see are a mirage._

"The ships we see are a mirage."

"A MIRAGE?! But sir—"

With sweat beading lightly on his forehead, Luke pushed the Jedi mind trick further, broadening its scope…

The protesting Imperial pilot instantly stopped, his eyes blurring as he viewed his monitors. "Yes…yes sir. They are a mirage." The dumbfounded voices of the rest of the squadron agreed in monotonic drone.

_Turn about. NOW._

"Turn about. NOW. Head back to the township."

"Aye aye, sir." And in unison, the six TIE Interceptors turned up and over in the azure Orri Prime sky and headed away from the lone X-wing circling beneath them.

With the Force still pulsing all around him, Luke simpered dreamily as he murmured, "You have your ways, Fett…and I have mine."

"That's right, Skywalker," Fett rumbled softly, his eyes locking on one particular line of data dotting his screen, his finger easing toward the PLAY button of his music device, "I have mine…" And then he pressed the button.

Just as it did with the Imperial pilots out in space, Fett's atrocious music shrieked with deafening volume not only through the cockpits of the Luke's and Wedge's X-wings, but through the public speakers of the _Defiance's _bridge and those of the _Millennium Falcon_ as well—

_Welcome to the Jungle! We got fun and games!_

_We got everything you want, honey we know the names!_

The cacophonic din was enough to shake Luke completely out of his Force trance as he slapped the sides of his helmet. Aboard the _Falcon_, Chewbacca roared brutally, his massive paws flying to his highly sensitive ears. Han ripped the headset out of his ear just as the troop of Pathfinders in his hold all bellowed and griped. Leia's face twisted into a disgusted grimace as she covered her own ears while Admiral Ackbar shouted orders at the poor Sullustan communications officer to somehow override the awful racket…the only one who seemed undaunted by the clamor was Wedge Antilles, who merely bobbed his head to the tune's barbaric rhythm and remarked, "Catchy…"

But just as abruptly as the music started, it suddenly stopped, replaced by the cold, gravelly, and all-around irritated voice of Boba Fett. "We had a deal, President Organa, that I take the palace ALONE. So tell your people here to back off until I give them the signal! If you don't, I'll do the same thing to your communications as I did to the Imps—and what you heard was just a sample."

Ackbar immediately stepped forward to protest, but was stopped by Leia's abrupt halting gesture. Huffing in frustration, Leia announced, "Fine, Fett. Luke, Wedge, fall back. Let him go."

"Your Excellency—" Ackbar began.

"Admiral," Leia retorted, snapping around, "we have enough to worry about with overtaking that Destroyer and the ground battle! A deal is a deal. Let him go!"

Ackbar merely threw up his fins and stomped back to his captain's chair. In his X-wing, Luke sighed and replied, "Aye, your Excellency. Wedge, let's reconnoiter with Rogue Squadron."

"Aye Luke." Wedge banked his X-wing and followed his commander back out of the atmosphere, throwing one last look at the ill-tempered bounty hunter now speeding furiously away toward the south…

…………

Seated at the cutting table in the palace kitchen, his bowl of untouched stew still steaming in his hand, Czethros gawked at the old woman who calmly stood before him, with her arms folded across her chest. The red blip of his visor sputtered back and forth, indicating that the Supreme Vigo of Black Sun was attempting to comprehend everything he had just been told. "She's…she's that important? That powerful?"

"At this present moment, you couldn't even begin to comprehend her significance, Czethros," Nikoa replied simply. A soft, strange smile crept over her serene countenance. "The Empire that you knew is a relic, the clumsy manifestation of an old man's lunacy, and will soon be nothing more than a trivial blink in the immense span of time and space. What will replace it, ah…" The smile grew. "What will replace it will be a dynasty this galaxy has never seen, ruled by living, breathing GODS." She came toward him, cupping a soft, withered hand just under his jaw. "And those who prove their devotion to my Master and his Queen will rule at their side, and be their outstretched Hands, and will show no mercy." She leaned in close to him and repeated, "NO MERCY."

"To whom, old mother?" he asked softly.

Gingerly, almost seductively, Nikoa slid a fingertip over his lip and answered in a hushed, sultry whisper, "To ANYONE."

Czethros exhaled deeply, as though the words were more narcotic than any ryll he had ever ingested. Power, absolute power, all HIS, by HIS hand, no longer wallowing in the shadow of the Xizor, the Falleen prince…Slowly, his hand went to the comlink at his belt and, picking it off, he raised it to his lips. "Jober."

"Yeah, Boss?" his second's voice crickled through the tiny speaker.

He smiled lazily as he gazed into Nikoa's smoldering eyes. "Listen up. There's been a change of plan…"

…………

His plan was simple enough. With the stealth system jamming any sensor fields put out, Fett could program the _Slave_ to easily drop him on the eastern roof of the courtyard. He'd cut through the glassine skylight in the library ceiling and make his way through the palace, silently disposing of any Black Sun henchman he found (a dart through the throat usually worked well) until he came upon I'Lai's office. From there, he would hail the _Slave_ to the outside garden, get I'Lai and Kai safely on board (after killing her guards, of course), and then find Czethros. Covert, quiet, and efficient.

"I'Lai," he whispered, staring intently through the viewport at the white granite palace ascending over the horizon, "I'm almost there…Hold on…"

…………

_I'm almost there…Hold on…_

Slowly, almost dreamily, I'Lai lifted her chin from her baby's head and turned toward the large glass doors leading to her garden. Her lover's name formed upon her lips, but she dared not speak it, for fear that her Bothan captor would hear it or, even worse, the hushed voice that played through her mind was just another cruel trick from…_him_…

But the gentle brush of gruff tenderness and familiarity a call to the Force provided her hushed those fears. She could feel his strength, his resolve, and his bravery through the very essence of existence itself. His presence grew stronger by every passing second, and she could no longer resist the urge to go to the doors, to see for herself…

She turned again toward the Bothan standing a few meters away from her, and saw that he was in what seemed to be a confusing conversation with Czethros over his comlink…

She slowly rose from the chair, cradling Kai in her arms, and walked toward the garden doors. Through the glass she could see a ship on the horizon, growing closer and larger with every excited breath she took. The ship became her entire world, its very existence consuming all of her focus and drowning out everything else-- even Jober's furious demands that she come back and sit down were nothing more than a drone, discarded in her ears. She turned the latch and stepped out onto the cobblestone terrace…

_Boba_…?

_I'Lai? _He answered through his mind as the _Slave_ encroached upon the palace. He saw her, standing in the distance, holding their son, the wind blowing gently through her ebon hair…

She smiled through tears of elation that swelled from her eyes. _Boba, I'm here! I'm here!_

Fett's breath rushed from his lungs as a relieved smile stretched his lips underneath his visor. "Binocs," he murmured, "One hundred percent." The vision of I'Lai immediately zoomed across his visor, and the smile across his lips slowly disintegrated into a scowl. She was dirty and disheveled, her tunic and trousers had been torn, her arms sported gashes and cuts. But most prominently, her right eye and cheekbone were swollen and bruised, explaining the sharp sting he had felt across his own face while traveling through hyperspace…

It was only then he realized how close he had taken the _Slave_ toward the palace, when he noticed a bulking shape move within the garden door … _I'Lai, no, go back inside! Go back! Before—_

Too late. From his ship, Fett watched the large Bothan storm through the doors. He saw him stop and gawk at him before curling his lips over his fangs. He watched the furred alien grab I'Lai by the hair and savagely throw her across the garden, back through the doors. As I'Lai stumbled to her knees and desperately tried not to drop Kai, the Bothan hurled himself back around, eyes slit, fangs bared…

A strange calm came over Fett, even as his heart thumped ferociously behind his armored vest. Even as the adrenaline raged through his veins, his emotions simply shut down, replaced by nothing less than razor-keen focus and pitiless will. "So much for covert, quiet, and efficient," he murmured softly. "New plan."

He hit the stabilizers and halted the _Slave_'s speed, hovered the craft before the armor-clad Bothan, wrapped his gloved finger around the trigger of the _Slave_'s cannon…and fired.

The green bolt of energy blasted a duracrete bench into flying chunks of stone just a meter from the Bothan, sending the alien careening against the stone terrace.

Fett's lip curled into a satisfied snarl. Setting the controls to autopilot, he tore himself from the console and stormed into the hold.

"Ee'ui taa,"

"Cu'nata."

"Pre'cu'nai ee'ui oo'ta niiki ocu'aea (Fly to the palace front entrance)."

"Cu'nata."

The _Slave_ lurched up and forward, tearing over the rooftop of the palace, leaving a dazed and fuming Jober scrambling to his feet and pulling the comlink to his mouth…

…………

"Jober!" Czethros barked into the comlink, fiercely pacing the length of the kitchen. "What the hell is happening up there?" What came through the comlink speaker sounded to be blaster fire, followed by a high-pitched explosion and debris hitting the ground. "JOBER!"

Even Nikoa knit her brow…

A scream of engines roared, followed by Jober shrieking into the comlink, "FETT! FETT IS HERE!"

"WHAT!"

"FEHHHTT!"

"NO!" Nikoa yelped. Her hand flew to her head, as though she was suddenly dizzy, or in terrible pain. "He's…not supposed to…! No, this isn't right—"

Every single head of Czethros' three-dozen men, who up until that moment were still docilely slurping over their bowls, instantly snapped to attention. Czethros spun furiously to face his men. "WHERE IS HE??" he barked into the com.

"He's flying toward the front entrance! He's in the front!"

It seemed whatever power had held Czethros' mercs in line had been broken. Bowls, spoons, chairs and stew flew in all directions as the armored men exploded from their positions, grabbing their blasters and rifles, and began racing in a frenzy through the kitchen door.

Czethros began to sprint after them, shouting into the com, "Stay there, and guard the girl! Don't let her out of your sight!" until he felt a sharp pull on his arm. He spun around to glare at the old woman holding him in a fierce grip.

"No, Czethros, not that way!" she whispered sharply, cutting him off before he could protest. "This way!" She quickly pulled him through the kitchen, past the stove and cooler units, until they had reached the back wall laden with shelves. With effort, Nikoa pushed against an end of a shelving unit, and it rotated to one side, revealing a darkened, narrow staircase. "Up there. Keep following the stairs and wall. It will take you to the second floor, back to I'Lai's office chamber." She suddenly thrust her hand at his face and grabbed his jaw, jerking his head toward her smoldering eyes. "Do you remember where I told you to take her, Czethros?" she demanded in a low growl, in that voice that wasn't quite hers…

"Yes," he rasped.

"Good. Go!" With that she shoved him through the door and slammed the wall shut. Hurriedly, Nikoa shuffled toward the kitchen door and planted herself against the jam, turning an ear out the door, listening to the mercenaries' armored boots scrambling out to the foyer…

…………

Once in the hold, Fett continued his orders as he ripped open several compartments built into the bulkhead and began pulling out an arsenal of weapons. "Di cu aei'ke saat Impri tu'nat oi ni saastna cu echee (Run a scan of Imperial fighters within fifty kilometer radius and report)."

The computer ran the scan, and Fett armed himself. His Blastech EE-3 was slung across his chest and shoulder. After adjusting their settings for enclosed combat, he snapped several thermo detonators onto his belt. Spare darts for both his bracers and knee guards were slapped onto his chest plate by magnets. As he peered at the test data running across the optical screen of his visor, testing the systems within his helmet, the computer announced, "Saastna ooi-ti nwa (Scan complete)."

"Echee (Report)" he replied, jerking his wrist and releasing the twenty-centimeter serrated blade from his bracer with a resounding SNAP.

"Eu'ca Impri TIE di naa ritii (Six Imperial TIE Interceptors), Fu'ca Impri TIE di naa ei'ko wadi (Four Imperial TIE bombers), aa Di'ca Impri TIE di naa waku de (and Five Imperial TIE fighters)."

He snapped the blade back into the housing. "Pre na au'tane (Stand by for further instructions)." Shoving the nozzle end of a small cartridge into the tiny intake valve of his flamethrower, Fett peered back into the weapons locker. The low light of the hold glinted off something metallic tucked all the way in the back. He took a long, deep breath through his nose as he recognized the object, and slowly, in a manner of reverence, reached in and pulled out Jango Fett's pistol and holster.

He stared at the pistol for a brief moment, turning it in his hand, before sliding his hand along the length of the gunbelt, circling it around his waist and clasping it shut.

On a brace directly beside the weapons cabinet hung his newly built jetpack. Backing into it, he crouched down and slid it up into the housing on the back of his armor. Once it was secured, he made his way to the hatch-tube at the back of the hold and stepped in. The lift immediately began to ascend, and the hatch at the top of the bulkhead opened.

The bluish sunlight of Orri Prime sparked off his helm as Fett rose out of the _Slave_. Kneeling for support, he rode atop the cockpit as the ship looped around the palace, coming toward the front entrance…he closed his eyes and took a deep breath and, for a very, VERY short moment, gave plea to the Slayer that the untested jetpack wouldn't blow him or his ship into a flying fireball as he tensed his shoulders and ignited the neuro-trigger…

The pack detonated perfectly, launching him up and over the _Slave_ in a high arc. But there was no time for celebration—immediately, he steered himself south toward the palace while the _Slave_ veered north, turning itself to slow just before the palace doors…

…………

Hosh the Correllian was the first to burst through the front entrance, followed by at least another dozen mercs. Vibro-blades and blasters brandished, they raced toward the hovering _Slave_ I, splitting off to surround the ship.

"FETT!" hollered the Correllian, hoisting his enormous blaster up in front of him, "Come on out, bounty hunter!" He stepped in closer. "You ain't got no where to run now—"

Boba Fett smirked as he watched from where he perched. "That's it…just a little closer…"

Hosh began to laugh, swaggering toward the ship and spreading his arms wide. "Whassa matter, Fett? Got a case of the bashfuls? What, big bad Boba Fett can't take us ALL on…?" Hosh's mirth, juiced by the rush of the ryll in his system, grew louder, and his steps grew wider and ever closer to the _Slave_. "Remember the Outer Rim, Fett? Hah, not so tough now that I got some FRIENDS wit' me, huh…?"

One more step…

"Ke'wai (NOW)."

Fett's command crackled through the air, was caught by the _Slave_'s antenna, and immediately dispatched to the ship's Perimeter Defense System, which in turn spit the four spherical turret pods out of their housings in the hull. Before they even had a chance to aim at the lethal spheres that sped around them, four of the mercs lay face down on the ground, blood and brains seeping from large holes blasted in the back of their skulls.

The thugs, in their clumsy armor, aimed their heavy blasters and tried to pick them off, but the spheres were far too fast, slicing and cutting between them, shooting three more in the heads and throats. As he saw body after armored body fall around him, Hosh screamed, "RETREAT!" and, running, led the four remaining mercs back toward the front entrance…

Until the reptilian Tradoshan and the humanoid Fellenetian flanking him on either side suddenly—and rather sloppily—slumped to the ground. Hosh stopped and was about to furiously admonish his comrades…until he saw the ends of the sleek assassin's darts sticking straight out between their gaping dead eyes. Before he could fully comprehend, THUDS from behind him clapped his ears, and he spun around in time to see his two other comrades fall as well, this time the darts stuck in their throats…

Very slowly, Hosh turned his anxious eyes toward the front entrance…to see Boba Fett crouched upon the entrance roof, the blue Orri Prime sun glinting off the gray sheen of his new armor, t-shaped visor glaring down at him, the light wisps of smoke still trailing from the dart housings of his knee-guards.

Hosh scrambled to raise his heavy blaster rifle at the bounty hunter, but Fett was too fast. Leaping off the roof, he ignited his jetpack to fly him over to the now lone, panicked mercenary, where he hovered just long enough to kick him soundly in the head. Hosh had barely hit the ground when Fett landed and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him to his knees and plowing his armored-plated gloved fist straight into his nose. Blood gushed out of Hosh's nostrils as Fett pulled his face to his mask and growled through his vocoder, "Now what was that about your 'friends', Hosh?"

"F…Fett…" was all Hosh could choke through the blood pouring down his throat.

"You're lucky the price on your head doesn't mean shit to me right now." Fett yanked him even harder toward his mask. His tone was calm, quiet, and lethal when he asked, "Where's Czethros?"

The world spun behind the t-shaped visor filling Hosh's vision as he felt his consciousness wane. He gurgled, "In…side…"

"Good boy. Pleasant dreams." With that, Fett slammed his helmet right into the bridge of Hosh's nose and, releasing his hair, let him thump to the ground.

Whether or not the head-butt had killed the mercenary was little concern of Fett's. _Organa may have wanted Czethros alive_, he thought to himself, _but she never said anything about his men._ "Antenna," he ordered. As the antenna on the side of his helm lowered itself into position, he commanded, "Ee'ui taa,"

"Cu'nata."

Through his amplified sound system, Fett could hear the running boots of the rest of Czethros' small army through the open doors, racing down the palace corridors. Turning and striding determinedly toward the entrance, he picked two thermo detonators off his belt, stopped just outside the doorway…and smiled under his helm.

"Impri tu'nat oi ni saastna cu—ikku'at ni pwainai (All Imperial fighters within fifty kilometer range…search and destroy)."

"Cu'nata." The _Slave_ I immediately lifted from its position and, turning itself, shot forward into the sky, arcing to the east to take on whatever the Imps were to throw its way.

A sea of clamoring black-clad bodies of all sizes surged toward him, weapons and voices raised for combat…In one swift move, he flicked his thumbs over the detonators' ignitions, flung them forward into the corridor, and swung his Blastech off his shoulder into his arm while slinging Jango's pistol out of its holster...

_FROOM! _The corridor blazed blistering scarlet for a spilt second as the thermo detonators, while programmed for minimum damage, ripped through the first row of Czethros' mercs. Blood spattered across the patterns of char and soot on the white granite walls, and plaster, dust, and chunks of meat and limbs rained down upon the rest. Dense smoke filled the corridor as the mercs ducked, weaved, and coughed.

"Infrared," Fett ordered his helm. Images shaped like humans and aliens replaced the dim smoke within his visor. Raising his Blastech in one hand and Jango's pistol in the other, he stepped through the doors into the haze-laden corridor and proceeded to effortlessly—and mercilessly—blast every last red-orange hued being that showed within his visor screen.

Czethros' men tried to shoot back but, disoriented by the explosion and the smoke and not having the advantage of Fett's infrared system, their attempts were futile against the bounty hunter's controlled and unforgiving onslaught. Laser shots pitted the walls and ceilings and the few that did make it Fett's way deflected harmlessly off the TYI-plasteel finish of his armor. As far as their armor was concerned, Nikoa's earlier observation was proving devastatingly true—what the Empire had provided them was utterly worthless. Fett's blasterfire sliced through the flimsteel plating.

Trodeccu the one-eyed Wookiee towered in the rear, snorting wildly to clear the dust and smoke from his nostrils, and wiped a paw across his eyes so he could see Fett coming forward. With his armored form silhouetted against the day sky of the open doors, the Wookiee could see little more than Fett's visor through the smoke and gunfire as he pressed forward efficiently and lethally. He watched as Fett would shoot down a comrade, and then calmly step over him as he took out another. Feeling his Wookiee rage consume him, he was about to hoist his huge laser cannon upon his shoulder to take aim when he suddenly felt a tug on his massive arm, and looked down. Splitter the Snivvian gestured wildly toward the foyer staircase, gibbering away in his native tongue. Although he didn't understand the words, Trodeccu knew the gist, and the two broke off from the rest to tear through the foyer and up the stairs.

A half-breed human tried to rush him, brandishing his rifle over his head as if to club him. Fett dodged him, crouching low, spinning around and, as the merc fell to the floor, flexed his foot within his boot. A ten-centimeter shiv sprung from the boot's toe and, with a short forceful kick, Fett soundly sank it into the merc's trachea while turning back and taking out three more with his outstretched Blastech…

The detonators' smoke had risen to the heights of the high vaulted ceiling, and Boba Fett found himself standing in the middle of a collection of two dozen dead and dying. At the entrance of the sumptuous foyer beyond stood the last gunman, a Fellenetian male, barely out of puberty.

The boy merc stayed frozen, lips quivering, holding his blaster down low in front of him. Eyes huge and terrified gawked at the sight of the Devil standing just meters before him, his Mandelore armor charred, scarred, and bloody, the detonators' smoke hazing around him, rising from a field of silent corpses and groaning wounded. Different hues of human and alien blood pooled and mixed with shards of useless black armor on the white marble floors, forming rivulets that ran toward the young merc's feet, and the walls were veined and pocked with cracks and blaster holes. Wires slung from the broken light fixtures, and the moans of the dying were accentuated by the intermittent pops of plaster falling amongst them.

They remained still, unmoving, eyes locked for what seemed like hours…until Fett heard a tiny trickle. He glanced to the boy's feet, where a small puddle of urine began to collect and swirl with the blood of his comrades.

Raising Jango's pistol slowly, deliberately, to aim at the youth's head, Fett rasped in a low simple tone, "Drop your weapon and get out."

The youth didn't need to be told twice. He slipped in his self-made puddle, landing hard on one of the bodies, before scrambling to all fours and racing over the dead, past the stoic bounty hunter, and out the front door.

He watched the youth run, wailing, across the vast lawn, before turning and casually stepping over his toll. He tapped the comlink on the side of his helm. "Ackbar."

Aboard the Defiance, Ackbar's large head snapped toward the comlink mic. "Fett? What's happening down there?"

"I'm in. You can send in the maid service now."

The Admiral's mouth twitched slightly before he said, "General Reeikan, move in!"

"Aye Admiral! Solo, you there?"

"Ready when you are, General!"

Uninterested in the conversation, Fett slapped the comlink off. Having reached the entrance to the foyer, he stopped, and turned a slow gaze back toward his kills. The pile had stilled somewhat. The moaning had ceased considerably. Quietness permeated the last haze of smoke, filtering the sunbeams into shafts of aqua. His eye followed the beams back out the door, where twelve more men lay dead outside.

Three dozen dead. By his hand. In a matter of minutes. He wasn't even out of breath.

It was a new pinnacle for him, a new personal best of carnage and death. Not even the raid upon the slavers of Ryloth had resulted in this number. And there had been a purse for that one. But this time, there was no bounty, no reward, no credits waiting to be claimed. This slaughter had resulted from…something that, according to the holo-novels and the romance-vids and the seemingly endless drivel of sentimental poetry and foolish lyrics, did not manifest itself in a pile of smoldering dead mercenaries.

Slowly, Fett turned his helm away from the dead to stare blankly ahead. It was hopeless, there was no denying it any longer. He had felt himself, the brutal cold identity he had carved over the decades, chip away with every passing day since that night on the Executor. Although his face and form remained, the emotionless, ruthless bounty hunter was being replaced with another man inside, a man who…laughed. Joked. Bought gifts. Cared. Made love. Slept. Dreamt at night. Got angry.

And methodically killed three dozen men because they hurt the woman he loved.

And they would keep coming. The news of the battle would undoubtedly hit the holonet in a matter of hours. His name would be mentioned. And they would come. Come for him. Come for them. Come to I'Lai's home.

Come to_ their_ home.

As he glanced back at the display of bodies before him, the bare reality of it all hit him. I'Lai and Kai would never be safe. Not as long as… Boba Fett was still _alive_. It was, really, just as simple as that. A strange serenity washed over him, as though every muscle, sinew, and fiber of his body exhaled with release, as though every second of every day of his life had led up to that very moment, when he made his decision right there, and right then.

But…that decision later would be sealed later, when I'Lai gave him the answer to the question now decisively locked in his heart. His work here was not yet done.

With his Blastech raised, he moved smoothly yet cautiously through the foyer, scanning the area visibly and audibly, coming to the staircase and taking the stairs two at a time…

…………

Troop transport _Gilardi_ pressed forward into the atmosphere just as the _Falcon_ shrieked above and in front of it, firing off several laser rounds to down two TIE Interceptors hurling their way.

"General Solo," came General Rieekan's voice over the com, "Go ahead! We'll be all right."

"I don't want to leave you open, General—"

"We can handle whatever comes our way! Go get Lando Calrissian!"

Setting his jaw, Han nodded. "Affirmative. Chewie, let's go get him." The _Falcon_'s thrusters spark iridescent blue, and heaved up an over the mountainous landscape of Orri Prime.

As the _Gilardi_ hurtled forward, General Reeikan grabbed his combat helmet off the pilot's console and strode confidently to the troop hold, where twenty of the Republic's finest Pathfinders, the Urban Guerilla SpecForces, awaited him…

The Gilardi descended as the palace appeared through the charcoal haze of the surrounding forest fires. The pilot slowed her to a hover just within the palace walls, lowering her slowly and carefully when he looked out the Gilardi's viewport…"General! There's someone down there, right below us!"

Rieekan turned to look back through the hatch into the bridge. "How many?"

"Just one that I can see, sir. Wait…" The pilot leaned closer toward the glassine window, then checked out the security monitor to his right. "General, he's surrendering!"

Rieekan acknowledged the warning, nodding curtly and turning to his men. "Blasters on maximum stun." The iris of the ship's belly hatch they were surrounding began to dilate, and Rieekan shouted over the blast of air and thrusters coming in, "But keep alert! Any sign of trouble, switch to kill!"

The troops jumped through the hatch, one at a time, igniting the small repulsor packs on their belts to cushion their fall. They hit the earth beneath them, blasters raised, and slowly moved forward toward the bloodied, terrified Fellenetian youth in black armor. As they encroached upon him, the youth fell to his knees and placed both hands on the back of his neck. Rieekan hit the ground last and came up the middle of the squad, keeping the youth within his blaster's scope. Through his scope, he could see the boy was crying, and through his helmet's audio preceptors he heard the boy pleading, "Don't kill me! Please, I'll tell you everything! I'll tell you ANYTHING you want!"

Lowering his blaster, Rieekan gestured to the other troops to lower theirs. He stood over the boy. "We're not going to kill you, son," he stated. "Where's Czethros?"

"In…Inside…with…_him_."

"Who? Fett?"

The boy started to cry harder at the mention of the bounty hunter's name. Rieekan threw a puzzled look toward his troops, who returned it with equal uncertainty. "Move out." He tapped his helmet's comlink. "Send a medic down here, and take him aboard. Follow us."

As the med-berth was lowered by cable with the medic riding atop of it, Rieekan and his troops moved forward, blasters raised, toward the palace entrance. They came upon the dozen bodies of Czethros' men scattered across the lawn, with several of the troops crouching over them, checking pulses, verifying that they were indeed dead. As they drew upon the palace's smoldering entrance, Rieekan motioned to his troops, signaling them to come to either side of the door. Leaning against the jamb, Rieekan cautiously bent in, surveying the foyer through his scope, and muttering under his breath, "Gods and hells…"

Slowly, he stepped through the door and over the first body, then the second, his men following closely behind. Halfway through the carnage, Rieekan lowered his blaster to stare vacantly at the corpses around him. He tapped his comlink again. "Fett, come in."

"What?" came the gravelly, irritated reply.

"General Rieekan here. Where are you?"

"Second floor."

"Do you need assistance?"

"Does it look like I need assistance?"

The General's eye twitched just slightly. "Affirmative. We'll canvass this level. Rieekan out." He tapped the link off when a young SpecForce sergeant approached him.

The young man's eyes were wide with disbelief, and he was shaking his head when he asked, "General…one man did all this…?"

Rieekan solemnly regarded the young soldier for a second before commanding, "Search this and the lower levels for survivors."

"Yes sir! Troops, spread out! Search the levels!"

In the kitchen, Nikoa's breath caught in her throat as the sound of bootsteps hitting the hard floors came closer and louder. She ran across the kitchen to the back, where she slipped through the secret passage and shoved it closed just as several Pathfinders stormed the kitchen…

The Falcon sailed up and over the crest of the final mountain peak bordering the clearing of Southern Hem Headquarters, just as a swarm of Imperial stormtroopers ran across the clearing toward the mangled cannon platform sheltering the injured Lando.

Han stood from his pilot's chair. "Oh goody, range maggots," he muttered as he tore into the hold. "OK, boys, we got company!" He grabbed a combat vest off the wall and donned it over his silk and brocade wedding clothes. "Nake and Prinik, take the guns and keep 'em off us!"

"Yes, General!" Two Pathfinders rushed to the back of the hold and climbed the ladders leading to the Falcon's cannons.

Han punched the ramp control in the bulkhead, his heavy blaster crooked in his arm. "Chewie!" he yelled over the din of the ramp, "Keep her low and close! We're goin' in!"

As daylight slit through the dim hold of the Falcon, outside the air already crackled and shrieked with laser fire. As soon as the ramp cleared him, Han immediately fired, taking out the Imp squad leader. With the assistance of their two gunners, the General and his troops were able to move quickly off the ramp onto the earth, blasting every white-plated trooper that came across their range of vision.

"Medic! This way! The rest of you, cover me!" Rifle raised and staying low, Han broke into a sprint across the clearing, the medic right at his heel, toward the fallen cannon. The earth around his feet exploded and erupted with stormtrooper fire, pelting him with shrapnel of dirt and rock until he dove and rolled out of the line of fire and under the platform. As he rolled up onto his knees, he found himself bending over the bloody, broken crumple of flesh and uniform that was Lando Calrissian.

"Lando!" Han shouted over the din of combat, grabbing his jacket and shaking him. "Lando, come on, wake up! Wake up! We're here, buddy!" The medic came up along side them and immediately engaged the bio-scanner. Han shook him again. "Come on, Lando! COME ON!" His agitation instantly turned into relief as Lando moaned and stirred under his grip. "That's it, buddy, wake up…"

Lando's eyes slit open and rolled slightly as he attempted to focus on the face in front of him. Suddenly, an odd, disoriented, happy smile stretched Calrissian's bloodied face, and he croaked, "Well, hello there, sweetcheeks. We still on for tonight…?"

The medic's snort didn't escape Han's notice, and he glanced briefly in his direction before lightly patting Lando's face and replying, "You bet, sugar britches." He turned again. "Well?"

They both ducked and covered as laser fire exploded just a meter from them. The medic brushed the dirt off his scanner and shook his head. "We got to get him out of here now, General, or he'll never make it! He's lost too much blood."

Han instantly hit his helm link. "Chewie, bring her in! NOW!"

The Falcon's shadow cast over them, her engines shaking the very air around them as the ramp inched ever closer. The rest of the Pathfinders swarmed around the ramp, holding off what was left of the Imperial squad as Han and the medic lifted Lando out from under the cannon platform and carried him up. Once their General and the wounded Security Chief had cleared the ramp, one by one they boarded as well until all were safely aboard. Chewbacca's massive paws danced across the controls with amazing speed and grace, and the Falcon ascended into the sky, leaving the few breathing stormtroopers remaining to fire feebly into her fumes.

Onboard, Han and the medic scrambled to get Lando hooked up to the medical berth. As the medic was wrapping a splint around Lando's broken arm and Han was pulling IV's and monitor cables from the berth under-compartment, he heard a thin, weak voice. "Han…?"

He looked up to see Lando, wide-eyed and awake, staring at him. He forced a lop-sided grin. "Well, g' morning, sunshine."

Lando smiled weakly. "I'm not dead?"

"Well, if you are, I'm gonna charge two creds a gander for the galaxy's only talking corpse."

Lando started to laugh, but only ended up coughing bits of blood over the front of his uniform. The medic glared harshly at Han. "Sir, with all due respect, don't make him laugh."

"General!" barked a young Pathfinder as he charged into the hold from the cockpit, "General Dodonna is on the com. They need us at the Atimbora Township! He's demanding that we comply!"

"We have to get General Calrissian to the medical frigate!" Han replied just as harshly.

"Wait," Lando rasped, grabbing Han's arm. He glanced up at the medic. "Can you stabilize me here?"

"Lando, no way—"

"Shut up, Han. Can you?"

The medic glanced at his supplies of synthe-blood and bacta products, then turned back to Han. "I think I can, but I can't make any promises."

"Good enough for me," replied Lando. "Han, go!"

"Lando—"

"Dammit Han, they need you! GO!"

Han drew his lips in a thin line and exhaled sharply. He jumped to his feet. "All right. Chewie, head for the Atimbora Township, shields up!"

As Han raced back into the cockpit, Lando turned to the medic dressing his bloody stump and whispered, "What the hell is he wearing…?"

Explosions bloomed all across the _Imprimatur_'s top decks, igniting space's blackness around them in magnificent display. Republic and Imperial fighters alike swarmed around the Destroyer as flies around carrion. The bridge tower quaked from a TIE fighter crashing into the massive mounting struts below. Toxic steam burst from the bulkhead of the bridge, enveloping most of the Navigation Station, sending the technicians running and screaming from their posts.

Pellaeon struggled to his feet after having been thrown to the deck by the explosion. Gripping a nearby console and pulling himself up, his gaze turned to the bridge's viewports, where he saw a Republic Troop Transport lurching forward and under them, escorted by a Tantive Blockade Runner with ion cannons readied directly at them and a score of B-wing fighters.

"Admiral!" cried Captain Rhys from the com center. "We have reports from Docking Bays Alpha and Theta! The Rebels have infiltrated, and are storming the ship!"

"Captain!" Pellaeon bellowed over the dissonance of steam and screams on the bridge, "What about the ground battle! Can we establish ANY communications with ground forces at all?!"

"Negative, sir! Com techs have tried everything! We can't eliminate Fett's virus!"

"Admiral!" came another panicked cry from the Tactical Pit. "Below us! We can hear cutters!" The tech stopped, putting a hand to his ear as he listened to the soft shrieking of metal being hacked. "They're cutting into the release shaft! They're boarding the bridge directly!"

Pellaeon stood perfectly motionless as he stared blankly at the young officer until…a slow, strange smile crept across his face. And then…he chuckled, very softly. He took a long, slow look around the bridge, meeting every frightened, anxious eye of his men, before glancing at the ceiling, closing his eyes, and sighing heavily. He then clasped his hands behind his back and, despite the deafening hiss of the steam all around him and the alarmed shouts of the techs trying to contain it, very calmly paced to the bridge's hatch and stopped just shy of the doors. "Captain, a word with you."

Rhys tore from his position at the com center to quickly side with his Admiral. "Sir?" he replied, snapping to attention.

"At ease, Captain." Pellaeon noticed the fear spread across Rhys's face as he forced himself to relax, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Rhys. I'm sorry for not having been a better mentor to you. I'm sorry that…your first command will not end in victory."

"Sir," Rhys rasped, "we can still fight—"

"For what? For an Empire run by gangsters and warlords? For shattered honor?" He sighed again, and weary older eyes met the younger man's. "It's over."

Sounds of blasters and chaos thumped against the other side of the bridge hatch, becoming louder as they came closer. Rhys threw a nervous glance at the door. "What…what will they do to us, sir? Will they…torture us? Kill us?"

"I honestly don't know, Ander. But…I get the odd feeling that no, they won't." Just then, the sound of a laser cutter squealed through the door control panel. Calmly, Pellaeon reached over and palmed the lock. The door slid open, revealing at least a dozen armed—and somewhat confused—Republic Pathfinder troops on the other side, including the one kneeling before the door, holding the cutter.

"I thought I'd save you the trouble," Pellaeon replied to their suspicious looks, the strange smile still donning his lips. "Who is in command here?"

"I am," came a voice from the back. The troops parted to either side of the thin corridor to allow a blonde and bearded middle-aged human male through. "I am General Madine."

"Madine," Pellaeon repeated. He lifted an eyebrow. "The Imperial defector? That would explain how you knew the best way to board my bridge."

Madine furrowed his brow. "And you are?"

"Admiral Gilad Pellaeon of the Imperial Navy. And I hereby surrender."

"Admiral!" yelped Oebe, the Defiance's communications officer, "General Madine on com!"

Ackbar jumped from his seat. "Put him through!"

Leia, who had been standing on the bridge's observation deck watching the siege of the Imperial Destroyer, suddenly snapped her attention to the com speakers, as did the rest of the bridge's personnel.

"Ackbar, Madine here. I'm standing with the commanding officer of Imperial vessel _Imprimatur_. He has surrendered."

A cheer that shook the very bulkhead exploded through the bridge. Every officer and tech leapt up from their seats and ran around the bridge, hugging and slapping each other on the back. Leia exhaled as though she hadn't in weeks, wrapping her arms around her belly, hugging her unborn twins.

Ackbar's wide amphibian mouth pulled even wider in a victorious smile. "General Madine, give order to your troops to round up all crew and hold them. Have the commanding officers shuttled here for interrogation. Lieutenant, call ground forces and inform them of the _Imprimatur_'s surrender!"

Oebe happily complied. "Calling all Republic forces! The Imperial vessel has surrendered! Repeat, the Imperial vessel has surrendered…!"

The Pathfinders all broke out in a rousing cheer as Oebe's cheerful Sullastan-accented news spread through the Falcon's speakers. The only ones not cheering were Han and Chewbacca, who were too busy navigating the ship through a storm of cannon fire from the swarm of Imperial TIEs around them "Wish someone would tell these guys that!" Han snapped under his breath. "LUKE!"

"I'm here, Han!"

"You busy up there? Cuz we could sure use your help down here!"

"On our way! Rogues, move in! Atimbora Township, point oh-three!"

"Dodonna!" Han barked into the com. "I'm going to draw these flies away from you! Get those transports to the town!"

"Affirmed, General!"

The Falcon tore ahead, looping to the west. The three Troop Transports and their A-wing escort lurched forward, the Imperial-occupied Atimbora Township just ahead and below them, surrounded by a half dozen lumbering AT-ST Scout Walkers and scores of storm troopers…

Inside the city walls, the town square had been turned into a makeshift infirmary, where several dozen wounded Orrians lay on the ground, waiting and moaning in agony for the Imperial medics to treat them. As they lay, thousands more were being forcibly escorted out of the mines and into columns along the streets, where they were to be laser-tagged as Imperial property and sent back to their homes at blaster-point.

One group, about two hundred strong, were being roughly lead by a squad of thirty troopers. In the front of the group was a large, bulky man, with sandy hair, deep-set eyes, and a long, broad nose who went by the name of Gadd Thutchen.

As they were lead out into the late Orri Prime afternoon sun, he looked back behind him, and gave a nod to an Ishi Tib, its large hammer-like head ascending over the crowd. The Ishi Tib nodded back just once, his large, opaque eyes scanning the masses and, more importantly, the troops leading them. He leaned down and whispered something to the Rodian beside him, who in turn whispered to his side…and the hushed direction went through the entire crowd.

Gadd had just been pushed to the front of his column, where a trooper stood ready for him, the laser-marker spitting and sparking red. "Lift your sleeve!" barked the trooper, raising the marker…

When a sudden blast seemed to quake the gates of the town. All heads turned over and up to see the Republic Transports looming in the distance, their A-wing escorts streaking over the town, engaging the TIE Interceptors right above their heads.

When the trooper before him snapped his helmet toward the commotion above, Gadd roared, "NOW!"

The entire crowd of prisoners suddenly burst forward, overcoming the distracted stormtroopers. From their clothing they pulled out hammers, spanners, laser-cutters, sonic rock splitters—all the tools available to them in the mines that their stormtrooper captives foolishly forgot to confiscate. One thrust a snic splitter directly into the chest of one trooper, sending a pulse of energy through him and stopping his heart. Another plunged the end of her spanner into a troopers eyeshield. White-armored limbs flew through the air as miners wielding the cutters hacked them off. Gadd lunged himself under one trooper, lifting him over his head and hurling him at five more, sending them sprawling to the earth, where they were attacked by two dozen more miners.

The violence spread through the town square like wildfire. As other stormtroopers and their officers sprang toward the rioting column, the other imprisoned miners took their cue from their brethren and immediately attacked them. It was only a matter of seconds before one miner, a human female, actually wrestled a blaster away from a fallen trooper and began firing into the squads coming at her column. As each trooper shot fell to the ground, other miners confiscated their blasters quickly, firing wildly at anything Imperial coming at them. Several others broke away toward the wounded to surround and protect them from the violence ensuing.

"General Dodonna!" cried the Transport pilot. "Look, in the square! The miners are revolting!"

Dodonna raced to the viewport to observe the Orrians overcoming their Imperial captors. He spun to the pilot. "Get over the square, now! Troops, armed and ready! We're going in!"

As the Transport hovered over the square, its belly hatch opened and scores of Republic Pathfinders rappelled out on their cables, blasting stormtroopers even before they hit the ground. As they began to spread through the cheering, shrieking crowd, Luke Skywalker's Rogue Squadron screamed over the mass, hurling toward the AT-ST Scout Walkers guarding the township's gates.

"Remember, Rogues," Luke reminded his fellow pilots, "go for the legs! Ackbar wants as many Imperials alive as we can take them!'

"Aye, Luke!"

The other two Troop Transports had already accomplished their primary objective. Having hovered short of a kilometer outside the township walls, they unloaded their squads of Pathfinder troops, who pressed forward and drew the lumbering Imperial war machines away from the town's gates, giving the incoming Rogues a clear shot at them. Although the AT-STs' weapons had exemplary horizontal firing range, they were not designed to fire above a forty-five degree angle…and were no match for the swarm of X-wings suddenly bearing down on them. When the Rogues weren't shooting the legs out from underneath them, they shot two-meter wide holes in the earth directly in their path, causing the Walkers to stumble and crash to the ground, as scores of Republic soldiers surrounded the fallen machines and took their Imperial pilots hostage.

"Han!" barked Luke, looping up and over one of the township walls, "what are you doing right now?"

A small explosion burst over the com, immediately followed by Han gruffing, "Oh, just knitting some baby booties…WHAD'YA THINK I'M DOING!? I'm keeping a whole squadron of Imps off your backs!"

"Well," laughed Tycho, wrapping his thumbs around his cannon triggers, "bring 'em on!"

"Right, Celchu! Coming your way!"

Luke shot his focus ahead of him, just as the Millennium Falcon came up and spiraled over a near mountain crest, immediately followed by a dozen or more Imperial Interceptors. Hitting the thrusters, his X-wing tore ahead, the Rogues closely behind and around him, as they sped toward the enemy head on…

Save for the pounding thumps of the Republic soldiers' footsteps below, the glistening corridors of the palace's second floor were eerily quiet. Fett walked slowly through the sun-drenched hall, his Blastech cradled in the crook of his arm. Although he would turn his helm from side to side, looking for any hidden enemies, it seemed to outside eyes he was unaware that he was being watched.

As he passed under the enormous chandelier hanging in the corridor's center, Splitter, perched high within it, grinned as he raised his blaster and waited for Fett to step right into his aim…

And Fett did, clearing the chandelier—and then spinning up and around and blasting off a direct hit into the chandelier's bracing struts. Plaster exploded in all directions, and the chandelier fell smashing to the marble floor—but not before Splitter, with his Snivvian agilty and quick reflexes, leapt off the fixture to hurl up and over the bounty hunter and soundly land on top of his jetpack.

Fett dropped his Blastech as he tried to grab at the Snivvian. Clamping his legs around Fett's waist, Splitter reached over his helm and grabbed its bottom edge with one hand, forcing Fett's head back while driving the point of a vibroblade toward his throat with the other—

Fett suddenly spun a half-turn and, using all of his weight for momentum, hurled himself and the Snivvian backwards against the wall. A nauseating wheeze broke from Splitter as the jetpack cracked all of his ribs into his lungs—but Fett wasn't done. He bashed Splitter into the wall three more times until he saw a spurt of blood spray over his shoulder. Then, in one swift move, Fett turned around, slid his arm to lodge against Splitter's throat, snapped the serrated blade from his bracer, and drove it through Splitter's shoulder, literally pinning the small alien to the wall. As he watched the Snivvian's eyes roll back into his head and a new spray of blood squirt, Fett pressed his mask against his snub-nosed face and hissed, "Going for something like that, Splitter?"

Setting his eyes back into place and glaring directly into Fett's visor, Splitter…smiled. In very broken Basic, he croaked through bloody spittle, "Nyo, Vett…suntin like DIS…" Fett felt Splitter's hand move to his belt—

And suddenly, a slicing pain seared through Fett's abdomen, just under the lip of his armored vest. Growling, Fett staggered back, clutching his side as he released the blade from his bracer, and looked back at the Snivvian hanging from the wall. In spite of his mortal injuries, Splitter giggled…and held up a small, laser-illuminated blade in front of his nose.

Fett ground his teeth as he glared at the weapon. With pained effort, he straightened himself up. Splitter's laughter instantly stopped when he saw Fett raise his bracer at him. "Splitter…" he rumbled, "Now you just made me mad…"

And ignited the flamethrower.

A stripe of fire shot straight out of Fett's arm to engulf the squealing Snivvian. Splitter's screams ricocheted off the walls and ceilings as he twisted and kicked against the wall, his clothing and skin crackling off his body, the smoke billowing through the hall…But just as swiftly as Fett had ignited the flame, he extinguished it by turning his bracer over and spraying forth flame retardant from another compartment. A spray of fine powder swallowed up the burning alien, and his charred, blackened body slumped gruesomely against the wall.

The smoking corridor whirled within his visor, and Fett slumped his knees. He drew his hand across the gash again, and glared at the profusion of blood smeared across his glove. He looked down to see the blood stain his underweave suit all the way down to his thigh. He was having trouble catching his breath, and he drooped forward, bracing himself on one hand while clutching his side with the other.

A thunderous roar bellowed through the smoke-filled hall, and Fett's helm snapped around. At the far end, two and a half meters of charcoal-colored, one-eyed, very pissed off Wookiee careened toward the fallen bounty hunter, his turbo cannon raised over his head like a club…Fett forced himself erect, furiously grasping for Jango's pistol—

Trodeccu's massive furred chest exploded forward, blood and innards spewing forth in a display of gore and smoke. But Fett knit his brow under his helm. He hadn't fired the shot. He hadn't even gotten the pistol out of its holster.

Trodeccu's eyes bulged and rolled, and his jaw slacked. He dropped his arms and the turbo cannon he held and fell hard forward, impaling himself on the smashed chandelier. And behind him, still holding the smoldering blaster, stood a panting, disheveled, and very dirty Dr. Him'bron.

Fett slumped back to sit on his feet. "What the hell are YOU doing here?"

Lowering the blaster, Him'bron pursed his lips. "You're welcome," he replied dryly. However, when the bounty hunter growled in pain and doubled over, he immediately rushed to Fett's side. "Where's the injury?"

"Left side, the ribs," Fett panted.

"The ribs I just knitted. Some of my best work, too." Him'bron placed a spread palm across the wound. "How did he get through this armor?"

"Monofilament blade, one molecule thick. Cuts through anything." Another sharp breath when Him'bron applied pressure. "No vitals, just muscle and bone."

Him'bron slid the medical bag off his shoulder and began rifling through it. "We won't know that until I get you in the med center. It's deep."

"No. Patch me. Now. Syn-skin and stims. It'll get me through."

"I can't let you go like this—"

Him'bron stopped when Fett grabbed his lab coat and jerked him. "I'm going, old man, whether you like it or not, so patch… me… up."

The old doctor sighed in frustration. "Fine. Lie back."

Fett complied, shifting his legs and lying back on his jetpack. Him'bron pulled the sliced underweave open and, pulling a small canister from his med bag, sprayed a thin layer of synthetic skin over the twenty-centimeter gash along Fett's ribs. Fett remained still. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a rasp.

"Some of Czethros' men came into the med center with a wounded Rodian," Him'bron explained as he opened a bacta patch. "I told them I had to get supplies, and that they should wait in the exam room." Sliding the patch under Fett's undersuit, he smoothed it on. "Once I was in the lab, I pumped the room full of anesthesia through the air vents." He heard Fett actually chuckle. "When they were out, I grabbed one of their blasters and crawled through the air vents, looking for any wounded." He cocked an eyebrow and smirked. He pulled two syringes out of his bag.

Fett glanced down at the doctor's work so far. "Good field dressing. And you handle a blaster well." He glanced up. "You were military."

The old doctor gave the bounty hunter a look from under his brow as he prepared the first syringe. "Very perceptive, Master Fett. I was a medic during the Clone Wars." He tapped the syringe. "This is for the pain—"

"It better not put me out—"

"It won't—I'll follow it with a stim." He sunk the needle into Fett's skin just below the wound. Fett felt the effect immediately, as the pain dissipated throughout the torso. Him'bron picked up the second syringe, then knit his brow. "I need your arm for this."

"Stick me in the same place."

"Fett—"

"HIT ME."

"You're going to be a mess later on," Him'bron grumbled as he jabbed him with the stimulant. Fett grunted. "All right, go!"

Fett quickly yet unsteadily rose to his feet and picked his Blastech off the floor. Before leaving, he turned to Him'bron and murmured, "Thank you," before breaking into a stiff trot down the hall and around the corner.

Him'bron smirked. "You're welcome," he said under his breath.

It took three solid shoves, but on the third try Czethros managed to push the heavy hidden door open. Stumbling through the wall into the corridor, he raised his hand to shield his bionic visor from the onslaught of the late afternoon sun beaming through the wall-sized windows, waiting for the microchip in his brain to adjust his retinal nerves accordingly. He shot a glance down one end of the corridor, then the other. He saw no one. Not one of his men was anywhere to be found.

He grit his teeth as his guts seized. Although the palace walls were thick, he had heard the muffled explosions and the ensuing screams of his men. And then…silence. Like the silence he was hearing now, save for the low thumps of bootsteps hitting the marble floors, accompanied by the soft clinking of armor that emanated just meters around the far corner…

Czethros broke into a sprint—as well as a cold sweat—down the opposite direction, racing around the corner and straight to the large, old-fashioned glassine doors of I'Lai's office. Gripping the knobs, he flung the doors open, revealing a pacing and very agitated Bothan on the other side.

"Fuck, Boss!" Jober yelped as he stepped toward his superior. "What the hell is happening down there—"

Czethros abruptly interrupted Jober's tirade by shoving his furred bulk aside. He strode fiercely toward I'Lai sitting in her chair, with Kai wrapped in his baby sling around her body. He grabbed her arm and pulled her up. "You're coming with me."

I'Lai struggled in his grip. "I'm not going anywhere with you—"

Czethros cut her off by grabbing the back of her plush hair and jerking her still... but it was his words that made her eyes widen and her blood freeze. "Majesty," he whispered more desperately than ominously, his face pressed close to hers, "It is his will that I take you to him. Do not fight me, do not make me hurt you."

I'Lai gawked into his bionic visor, frozen and speechless. Roughly, he pulled her by the arm toward the door. "Jober, let's go."

"Boss, will you tell me what the fuck is going on—"

With sudden blurring speed, Czethros released I'Lai and lunged at Jober, grabbing the open neck of the Bothan's armor and slamming him against the nearest wall. "I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR QUESTIONS!" he raged. "And your insolence is growing tiresome, mutant! You will obey me without question or argument! Follow me! NOW!" He released Jober, grabbed I'Lai, and brutally yanked her through the door.

Jober stood for a brief moment, panting and holding his throat. Slowly, his lip curled over his fangs as the rage seethed quietly through his body. "Sure, _Boss,_ I'll follow you…" he growled deep within his throat as he marched after them through the door…and he wrapped a furred digit around the trigger of his sidearm…

………

I'Lai's office remained deathly silent, save for the scant, rapid heartbeat that no naked ear could possibly pick up…but emanated clearly through Fett's audio receptors. He braced himself against the doorjamb, listening to the barely perceptible rhythm before sliding around the jamb, raising his Blastech, and quietly demanding, "Come out."

Very slowly, the arcs of two lavender lekku poked up from under I'Lai's desk, followed by a pair of huge, terrified violet eyes. The alien eyes became even wider when they recognized the infamous bounty hunter standing there at the door. Fett heard a slight gasp, then watched as the Czethros' forgotten Twi'leki concubine rose slowly from under the desk, her hands raised to her shoulders. In a voice that was rarely ever used anymore, the lithe alien girl breathed, "Doja Vett," in a tone of utter respect and hero worship.

Fett felt a quiet glimmer of relief—since his raid on the slavers of a Twi'lek village on Ryloth years earlier, he had always had friends amongst the Twi'leks throughout the galaxy. Lowering his blaster just slightly, he asked, "Where did they go?"

A slow, satisfied smirk played across the Twi'lek's mouth, and her eyes slit as she raised her hand and pointed in the direction of Czethros' escape. "Jat ray!"

With a curt yet appreciative nod of his helm, Fett tore from the room to race down the corridor. The Twi'leki girl pranced across the room, catching the doorjamb and leaning out to watch him go. But her head suddenly snapped around toward the direction of heavy footfalls and shouts coming from the Pathfinder SpecForces squad, who had just made their way to the second floor…

…………

I'Lai had struggled, kicked, and pulled with all of her natural strength the entire time they had sprinted through the palace halls, but it was no use. The Bothan was far too large and strong, and had endured her attacks with little notice as he dragged her, following Czethros all the way to the entrance of the docking bay's skywalk. She tried one last kick to the Bothan's legs, but lost her footing and stumbled. "DAMN IT, WOMAN!" Jober barked, hoisting I'Lai back to her feet. She cried out as his claws dug into her soft underarm, and tightened her hold around her wailing baby to keep from dropping him.

Czethros, leading them, stopped his frenetic pace and spun around. "Jober! I swear, if I hear one more shriek come out of her because of you—"

"You'll what?" Jober growled as he whirled around, baring his fangs and hunkering his broad shoulders.

Czethros' own snarl instantly melted as he saw the glint of murder suddenly spark in his second's narrowed eyes. "What did you say to me?"

"You heard me. You'll what? Kill me?" Still clutching I'Lai by the arm, he stepped menacingly toward the Vigo. "I've been your attack dog for years, running your dirty little errands, burying your bodies! You think you're just gonna get rid of me?"

"You DARE talk to me like that, you filthy mongrel!" Czethros roared, his hand going to his sidearm. "Without me, you'd be performing tricks in a sideshow on the Outer Rim! I made you! And I can erase you just as easily!"

"Erase me?" He let out a shrill, jackal-like laugh. "You need me! You needed me for this, and you still fucked it up! You can't do anything on your own, Czethros! You couldn't find your own ass without me, you blind crazy FUCK!"

With Czethros and Jober distracted with each other, I'Lai took the opportunity. She closed her eyes. _Boba, here! We're here! The skywalk!_

"I've had enough of your sloppy seconds and hand-me-downs!" Jober growled as he encroached upon Czethros. With a jerk, he pulled I'Lai to his side, wrapping his arm around her waist. "But not anymore, Czethros. Now, I take what I want!"

"Over my dead body, Jober," Czethros snarled quietly as he raised his pistol directly at the Bothan's head.

Again, Jober softly cackled. "Wanna take that chance, Czethros? Because before you could even pull that trigger, I'll already have snapped your neck in three places…"

For a brief second it seemed that Czethros might have flinched, for he jerked his aim from Jober's face to over his shoulder. Jober was about to pounce on the Vigo until he heard I'Lai scream, "BOBA, WATCH OUT!"

The Bothan spun around just in time to see Boba Fett duck as Czethros fired. The wall plaster exploded right above the bounty hunter's helm just as Fett raised his Blastech and fired back, his shot detonating just beside Jober's boot and searing the carpet.

"RUN!" Czethros bellowed, grabbing Jober by the shoulder and shoving him into the skywalk. "GO, GO! GET TO THE LIFT!" As Jober picked I'Lai up from the waist and started running down the skywalk, Czethros brought up the rear, firing relentlessly at the bounty hunter.

Fett continued to move toward him, his t-shaped visor focused directly at Czethros, his strides long, clean, quick and strong. But, try as he might, he couldn't get a clear shot through Czethros at the Bothan dragging I'Lai.

Czethros fired off a flurry of shots, only to have them deflect off Fett's armor as his step remained incessant. A sudden sense of panic gripped the Vigo, and he turned to run after Jober and I'Lai—

Until Fett raised his left bracer and triggered the duralloy whipcord cable.

The snare hissed through the air until it caught and spun around Czethros' ankle. With one hard wrench, Fett yanked the cord up and sent Czethros splaying to the floor.

He landed with a rich THUD, smashing his face into the floor. Roaring unintelligibly, Czethros tried to rise but, with every attempt, Fett violently yanked the cord again as he came closer. He lifted his head toward Jober, who had just made it to the lift at the end of the skywalk, and screamed, "Jober! Help!"

The Bothan stopped and turned, still holding I'Lai in his arm, who thrashed and kicked against him. With a slow, malicious grin, he punched the door control open and heaved himself and I'Lai inside.

"JOBER!" Czethros shrieked, pounding the floor with his fist. 'GODS DAMN YOU, YOU DOUBLE-CROSSING SON OF A WHORE! JOOOOOOOBER!"

Still grinning, Jober tapped his head in a mock salute. I'Lai tried one more desperate escape, hurling herself toward the doors…

"BOBAAaaaaa—"

But her cries faded to silence as the lift doors slid closed.

Fett broke into a sprint, racing toward the lift—until Czethros reached out and caught him by the ankle. Suddenly airborne, Fett crashed to the floor, landing on his bracer hard, sinking it into his injured side. A growl of agony filled his helm just as the pain exploded throughout his body. With great difficulty, he pushed himself to his hands and knees trying to get up—only to have Czethros, having scrambled back to his feet, come around and brutally kick him in his wound.

Fett roared again. The kick sent him careening onto his back, landing hard on his jetpack, sending new streaks of pain through his kidneys. Miniscule points of light swam across his doubled vision as he battled to breathe through the intense pain in his ribs. His helm lolled from side to side as he fought to raise his head and see Czethros standing over him, feet planted on each side, aiming his pistol directly at Fett's visor. A soft, almost maniacal giggle bubbled from Czethros' throat as his bionic red eye blipped erratically across its liquid display…

…………

Jober heaved I'Lai off him. She hit the lift wall, bracing Kai against the impact, then shrank into it when the Bothan leaned into her. "Which way is the docking bay?" he growled

In short, frightened pants, I'Lai whispered, "If I tell you, will you let us go?" Jober narrowed his eyes and knit his brow. "Jober, it's over. You'll never get out of here unless you listen to me. If I tell you how to get to your ship, will you let me and my son go?"

Jober paused for a brief moment, pondering the request…and then nodded once.

The lift came to an abrupt stop. The doors slid open into the underground transit tunnel, dimly lit by recessed lamps sunk into the ceiling of an earthen corridor that split several meters ahead of them.

I'Lai pointed. "Go to the end, and go right. Keep following the lights until you come onto a ramp and a blast door. There's a lock panel to the left. The access code is 81-741-2692."

Jober grinned. "Much obliged," he rasped as he lurched out of the lift—and grabbed I'Lai's arm and dragged her out with him.

"Wait, WAIT!" she cried, thrashing in his grip. "You said you would let us go!"

Jober grabbed her lush hair, jerking her forward and leaning into her ear. "I lied," he growled softly before bolting down the hall, hauling her and Kai with him. Her screams pealed off the hard earthen walls…

…………

"Fett," Czethros laughed through gritted teeth as he stood straddled over the wounded, panting bounty hunter, his pistol pointed directly at his throat, "you have no idea how long I have waited for this…"

Blinking hard behind his visor, mentally forcing his vision to clear, Fett tilted his helm up slightly as he croaked, "Wrong, Czethros. I have some idea."

And pulling every shred of strength and will he had, Fett snapped his knee to his chest—and, with unrestrained force, kicked Czethros firmly in the groin.

The screech that leapt from Czethros' throat would have made any schoolgirl proud. He dropped his pistol as both hands flew to his crotch and his legs buckled beneath him. Rolling to his side, Fett pushed himself to his feet and staggered to Czethros. Grabbing Czethros by the front of his flak suit, he slammed his armored fist across his jaw, then backhanded him with equal force. Czethros flew backwards, landing hard on his back before Fett grabbed him once again, forced him to his feet, and, with enraged and impossible strength, threw him into the skywalk's glass walls. The crash ricocheted throughout the walk as the window spidered magnificently behind Czethros' skull. He released the Vigo, letting him fall battered and dazed to his knees, before grabbing his hair and snapping his head back. Fett leaned in close as he hissed, "Where is he taking them, Czethros?"

Suddenly, Czethros began to laugh again through bloodied teeth as he answered, "To where you'll never find them, Fett." His laughter grew louder. "But…maybe you could still catch them, hmm? Or you can stay here and kill me? Your choice, Fett? Me or your woman?" Czethros' laughter erupted into uncontrolled guffaws.

Fett stood frozen for a moment, still clutching Czethros by the hair, until…he started to laugh quietly. Czethros' laughter slowly subsided as Fett's low, grating chuckles crackled through his vocoder. "Who says," Fett breathed with a calm that froze Czethros to his core, "that I can't have both…?"

And in one swift, even, and lethally precise move, Fett grabbed Czethros' visor, clawed his fingers over the rim, and mercilessly ripped it off and out of Czethros' eyes.

The scream that permeated the skywalk was brutal, shrill, and inhuman. It recoiled against the walls and ricocheted throughout the adjoining corridors until its blood-chilling resonance made it to the ears of General Reeikan and his fellow Pathfinders, who were standing outside of I'Lai's office, questioning the frightened Twi'leki girl.

"General, did you hear that?"

"How could I not! Troops, move out!"

But the Pathfinders were not the only ones who heard Czethros' shrieks…

With the bionic visor in hand, Fett stood up. He watched Czethros grab at the naked, sunken orifices in his face, coldly observed the blood leak from them, watched Czethros twist, flail, and writhe on the floor. His screams were relentless, the only pauses being an intermittent, ragged breath. "That should keep you put for a while," Fett panted as he stumbled over to his fallen Blastech, picked it up, and shot through the broken skywalk window. As shattered shards of glass fell over the thrashing, screaming Vigo on the floor, Fett ignited his jet pack and flew out.

He steered himself mid-air and headed toward the palace docking bay just a half-kilometer from him. As he flew over a grove of smoldering trees, Fett cocked his arm and tossed Czethros' visor into the burning woods.

Doubled over and cradling his bloody cavities, Czethros' screams had petered into nothing more than whimpering keening. He reached out and patted the floor with one hand, trying desperately to find his visor, but yelped when he slashed his palm across a sizable shard of glass—

And yelped again when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Who—who's there! Who is it?"

"Ssshhh," came the voice in his ear. He felt a hand take his wrist and guide it around a thin set of shoulders. The voice spoke again. "Be quiet, and come with me."

Despite his excrutiating pain, Czethros furrowed his brow as he was hoisted to his feet. Reaching up, he touched his rescuer's face. "Old woman? Is that you? How did you get here?"

"Never mind that!" Nikoa's head snapped over her shoulder as she heard the heavy steps of the Pathfinders approaching. "Lean on me! Hurry!"

Wrapping her arm around his waist, she half-led, half-carried him to the lift, where she hit the control panel. As the doors slid open she heaved him inside, and the doors closed just as the Republic troops had turned the corner of the skywalk…

The lift descended to a halt. As the doors slid open, Nikoa assisted Czethros through the short corridor and turned left.

"Is…" Czethros panted, trying to keep his legs under him, "Is this the way to my ship?"

"No. It's the way to his."

They ascended a narrow earthen staircase, and Czethros could hear Nikoa tapping controls. He heard the screech of metal against metal and, although he could not see it, he felt the warmth of the Orri Prime sun hit his face. Nikoa hurriedly assisted him again, moving out the door, and he felt and heard the soft crunch of grass under his feet as they came closer to the Sith Infiltrator docked in the middle of the field.

Nikoa led Czethros just as far as the end of the boarding ramp. "Get in, and rest."

Czethros grappled for the ramp railing, stepping onto the ramp. "How the hell do you expect me to pilot this?"

"You won't have to. When you enter the hold, go straight ahead. You'll find a stasis bed. Get in it and lie down."

"Stasis bed?" Czethros rasped, panting heavily and shaking his head. "Where the hell am I going that I need a stasis bed?"

"Your questions are growing tedious, Czethros!" Nikoa snapped, gripping his jaw. Suddenly, she grasped his hand, laying the palm on her cheek. "Now, hit me."

"Wh-what?"

"With your fist, as hard as you can. Knock me out."

"I-I don't understand—"

"Czethros," Nikoa whispered irritably, as though she was admonishing a child, "If I am caught helping you, then everything promised you will be forfeit. You will also be captured, and undoubtedly executed. If I am to continue my Master's work here, it must look as though you took me hostage. Now HIT ME."

Conceding, Czethros placed one hand on Nikoa's shoulder to steady his blow, drew his other back, and slammed his fist directly into Nikoa's temple. Because of his currently injuries and loss of blood, his blow was weaker than usual, but enough to send Nikoa spinning around and falling to the ground, unconscious.

The effort caused his head to spin, and he fell back slightly, catching himself on the rail of the ramp before pulling himself up and hobbling into the Infiltrator. Before he had even taken his first step inside, the ramp began to ascend, tossing him into the hold, and its engines sparked a demonic red as it lifted off the ground and shot into the sky.

…………

I'Lai's legs shook and bent beneath her, and her forearm had been rubbed raw by the Bothan's vice-like grip. A sharp pain shot from her neck all the way down her left leg, as carrying the weight of Kai in his sling around her neck and shoulders had, undoubtedly, pinched a nerve. She tried to stop, just for a moment, to catch her breath, but the Bothan would have none of it. He cruelly grabbed her by the back of her neck and shoved her up the open ramp of the Dama Fortuna. As she stumbled up the ramp, Jober came up beside her and grabbed her arm again, brutally pulling her up and into the Dama's hold.

"Take the brat up to the bridge and put him somewhere," Jober growled as he began peeling off his armor.

She obeyed, climbing the spiral staircase in the middle of the hold. When she reached the top, she stared blankly at the bridge, her breaths short and erratic. She looked down at Kai, who simply stared back at her, perfectly content, as though he had just woken from a nap. She furrowed her brow as she felt a strange, almost ominous glimmer of the Force emanate from the baby boy, as if he knew something she didn't at that moment…

Gently stroking his head, she moved toward the large leather captain's seat. Bending over the seat, she gingerly pulled the sling up and over her head as she laid him down to rest. She tucked the sling around him, attempting to coo and soothe him, even as her own heart beat wildly in her breast. "A weapon," she whispered, "that's what I need, a weapon…"

_You are a weapon._

She bit her lip and twisted her face into an anguished grimace as the voice flowed through her head…

_Kill the Bothan._

_No._

_He is useless to us. Kill him._

_No, NO! I won't, I won't kill._

_Yes, beloved…you will. You'll have no choice._

"NO!" She rose swiftly and turned—but found Jober looming behind her instead, bare-chested, his pelt rippling wildly over his frame, lips curled over his fangs, a thin thread of saliva dropping from a tooth.

Her heart beat even faster, and her lip quivered. She started to back away. "Wh…what do you want?"

"I think," Jober purred coarsely, mirroring every step she took back, "I've made it very clear what I want, Pretty."

Her eyes scanned the bridge wildly as she urgently sought some way to escape. "Don't you want to get away?"

He chuckled dimly, low in his throat. "Didn't see no one chasing us, did you, Pretty? I say we got some time…"

"No…please, Jober, you don't want to do this…" I'Lai panted breathlessly as she realized she was about to be backed onto the console. "NO!" She tried to dash past him, but it was no use. Jober caught her around the waist, hoisted her off the floor, and slammed her back against the pilot's console. All of her breath rushed out of her lungs, the hard buttons and switched digging into her back as he threw himself on her, pinning her with his entire weight. She tried to scream, tried to claw at his face and kick at his legs, but he ignored her attacks, too obsessed by his dark, ancient, deep-seeded animal lust. With both paws, he grabbed the neckline of her tunic and shredded it off her body all the way to her waist, then ripped the straps of her undergarment. She felt his teeth graze her neck…and then, driven wild by her scent, Jober sank his fangs into her shoulder.

I'Lai screamed again, thrashing as hard as she could, sobbing, begging him to stop. He answered her screams by roughly kneading her exposed breasts with one paw while he slid his other paw between their bodies and began ripping at her waistband of her trousers—

Suddenly, Kai began to cry. At first, his squeals were the short, erratic, hiccuppy type of cry all human babies do…but then, he got louder. And louder. His cries became a horrible keening, long, forceful, and deafening. They reverbed off the very bulkhead, and began to shake the looser components and equipment on the bridge. I'Lai could literally feel the force of the sound compress against her ears.

And, obviously, so could Jober. He pushed himself off I'Lai, his paws flying to his highly sensitive Bothan ears, and doubled over. "Shut up!" he shrieked, wincing and writhing. He whirled around, and screamed directly at the baby. "Shut the fuck up! SHUT UP!" He began lurching toward Kai…

I'Lai stared after the Bothan, slowly sliding off the console back to her feet. Her terror quickly boiled to rage, hatred as she watched Jober lumber menacingly toward her infant son. The dark fire began to smolder again, starting in her chest…

_That's it, Archae'el…_

Spreading through her back, her limbs, her soul…

_Unleash…_

Her jaw set as she bared her teeth…

_NOW._

Jober stood over Kai, raising a fist to smash down on the boy—when he suddenly shot into the air. He hovered there, weightless and helpless and unable to breath, as though he were hanging by a noose. He was abruptly spun around to face I'Lai, who stood just meters from him, her hand raised before her, her fingers gnarling into a fist, and he felt his throat constrict even tighter. With her teeth clenched and her eyes slit, I'Lai brought her hand to the side and heaved it forward—and Jober was thrown across the bridge against the bulkhead, where he stuck.

He felt his sternum crack, as if a compacter was crushing him. He opened his eyes to see I'Lai, bare-breasted, the tatters of her tunic hanging off her, blood trickling over one breast from the tooth wounds in her shoulder, slowly stalk toward him. It seemed a gale was blowing through the bridge, because her hair whipped up around her shoulders and head, but he could feel no wind. And then…he watched as her black hair blanched, from root to end, into an iridescent white. Her skin faded, leeching into a pearlescent ash. All color seeped from her eyes, morphing from teal to white-hot silver and, all around her, sparks and streaks of red energy crackled, bouncing and striking against the bulkhead of the bridge, and Jober could swear she actually grew _taller_ before him…

With one final breath, Jober, his eyes bulging from his head, gasped, "What the FUCK are you???"

A slow, serene smile crept over I'Lai's lip. "I am," she murmured, almost tenderly as she raised her hands in front of her, "…your _mother_."

And then she unleashed hell.

Thick, blinding pillars of red lightning exploded from her fingers to swallow up the dying Bothan. The energy sank into his armor, his body, and as the crimson streaks passed through him, frying his innards, they shot out again through every orifice, his mouth, his nostrils, the pads of his paws. He thrashed and screamed, the stench of burning hair and flesh filling the bridge. His armor, melting, beaded into his fur, his pelt peeled from his skin, his skin from his bones, as he was roasted from the inside out…

…………

Luke banked his X-wing hard to port, just before the TIE Interceptor's wing he blew off crashed through his viewshield. A small smile of victory started to pull his mouth, but suddenly stopped…

"I'Lai…?" he whispered hoarsely. His eyes glazed, and a horrible, ill feeling grabbed his chest as the menacing disturbance in the Force broke over him like a tidal wave…

…………

Leia suddenly gasped and stumbled back against the holo-cartographic table in the center of the Defiance's bridge, her eyes widening, her hand pressing against her stomach. Although the rest of the bridge's crew were busy coordinating the final stages of the Imprimatur's surrender and the ground battle, Leia's sudden spell did not escape Winter's notice.

She rushed to her long-time friend, bracing her arm around Leia's shoulders. "Leia, what is it? Is it the babies?" she asked quietly yet anxiously.

"No…no Winter, it's…" Quite suddenly, Leia started to cry softly. "Oh Winter… I can feel it…something terrible has happened…"

…………

As he just breached the docking bay's perimeter wall, Fett flexed his shoulders just slightly, shutting the jet-pack off. He landed too hard on his feet, sending him over to his knees. The impact jarred his wound, shooting new pain through his torso. He grunted sharply, doubling over, then reached into a slim pocket just under his thigh guard. He pulled out a small syringe of stims, flicked the cap off with his thumb, and stabbed it into his wound. He forced the howl of pain back into his throat, just as he forced the vomit coming up his esophagus back into his gullet…

But suddenly…he stopped. A strange, horrific feeling came over him. Slowly, he raised his visor toward the lone ship in the bay, Czethros' ship, the Dama Fortuna. She was in there. She and Kai both. And something was…very wrong…

He staggered to his feet, Blastech tucked into his arm, and lurched toward the open ramp…why was the ramp open…toward the light wisp of smoke floating out of the hatch…Blastech raised, he cautiously stepped up the ramp and into the hold…

The smoke was thicker, and the smell was rancid. The smell of burnt hair and flesh. Fett activated the infrared, scanning the hold. It was still, deathly quiet. Moving quickly and silently, he hugged the bulkhead, scanning around every corner…

When Kai's sudden cries wailed from above him, up the spiral staircase to the bridge. Fett tore into a sprint, hauling himself up the stairs, into the bridge—and stopped in the doorway when he saw Kai lying on the seat of the captain's chair, kicking and bawling hysterically.

He rushed to the baby boy, falling on his knees and, as gently as he could, gathered him into his arms. "Kai," he breathed, holding the baby close to his armored chest and blinking back the utterly unfamiliar moisture forming in his eyes. "Ssshh, it's all right, it's Papa…Papa's here…"

It was only then he discovered the source of the smoke and smell. Slowly, he turned his helm to his right toward the smoldering heap of flesh, fur, and bones against the wall. He rose to his feet and walked toward it…and only when he saw a small, unsinged patch of sable brown fur did he recognize the pile as the Jober, Czethros' Bothan second in command.

"I'Lai," he whispered at first, followed by a shout. "I'LAI!" He spun, his eyes furiously scanning the bridge—

And landing on a suede booted foot sticking out from under the ship's helm.

With Kai in his arms, he raced to the helm and fell on his knees. I'Lai had crawled under the helm. Her arms were crossed over her bare breasts, her knees tucked up against her chin. Her eyes were bulged, glassy, and catatonic. She didn't look up, she didn't acknowledge him—she did nothing but stare at the floor, and rock back and forth, and shake violently.

Fett could see that her tunic had been ripped from her body, and saw the bite wounds on her shoulder, the dried blood flaked on her skin, as well as the bruises on her face and arms. But the most troubling thing was her hair—an iridescent streak of white exploded from the front of her raven black hair.

As softly as he could, he reached for her. "I'Lai?" He touched her face. "It's me, it's Boba…I'Lai, look at me…please…" Very slowly, her eyes crept from the floor, up to his mask. Her lip quivered, and she began to shake even more. "Come out, you're safe now. I'm here…I have Kai…" He slid his gloved hand up her arm to take her hand. He pulled her out from under the console and helped her to her feet. "I'Lai, take the baby…there he is, hold him…" He slid Kai into I'Lai's arms. She took him, but registered no reaction whatsoever, just continued to stare, unblinking.

His arm wrapped around her waist, he helped her down the staircase but, once they had reached the landing, she collapsed against him, her eyes rolling back into her head, her trembling becoming full-blown convulsions.

Ignoring his own wound, he caught her and lifted both her and Kai in his arms. He felt as though someone had just reached into his chest and crushed his heart. His breathing became fast, erratic as adrenaline burst through his frame…and, for the first time in his life, Boba Fett knew what it was to be _afraid…_

Just as he heard the roar of the Gilardi as it approached, and the hard boot steps of the Pathfinders coming up the underground ramp to the entrance, he ran out the hatch and down the ramp, shouting in a panicked roar, "Medic! MEDIC! _MEDIC_…!"


	12. The Quality of Mercy

NOTE: The piece of music referred to in this chapter is Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, Second Movement. If you wish, I highly recommend listening to it. It will play an integral part in the story to come.

Ivy J

Episode 2

Chapter 11

The Quality of Mercy

Boba Fett was fully aware of the gawks and grunted whispers of the New Republic Pathfinder troops behind him, though his body language belied neither his awareness nor the agonizing injury in his side. He stood, stoic and straight, armored and helmeted, on the library balcony, staring down at the bustle of Republic ground transports, ambulatory vehicles, and medics pushing stretchers of Republic, Orrian, and Imperial wounded into the palace. The Republic medical frigate loomed in the sky near the horizon, with dozens of shuttles carrying medical personnel and supplies zooming back and forth. The palace had been established as a makeshift hospital as well as temporary New Republic headquarters for the campaign. The library became a rest area for Republic troops and pilots, where they chewed and gulped on the various food and drinks laid out for them. Although Fett stood outside and the thirty-some Repub soldiers remained in, he could, thanks to his audio preceptors and the open doors, hear everything they whispered with near perfect clarity:

"So why is he here again?

"Maybe somebody kicked over a rotten log."

"Wonder how much he cost. Probably demanded one of Solo's twins as payment."

"Shyeah, no kidding. Why'd Organa hire him? We could have taken those clowns ourselves!"

"Yeah, and maybe left a few of them alive. Did you see that pile? The guy's a psycho."

"Craner, keep it down, he'll hear you. You wanna end up like them?"

"Wasn't he one of Vader's cronies?"

"Hey, Vader's dead—and so's his money. Gotta go where the credits are, so he comes crawlin' to the Republic."

"He's probably in with Czethros. That's why he let him get away."

"Yeah—Boba Shoot-Anyone-In-The-Back-For-A-Credit Fett. Scumbag."

"Why don't you guys shut the hell up."

That statement was not whispered. "Rear optic," he quietly ordered his helm. The range finder on the side tilted back, and the tiny holo-camera built in it displayed the room across his visor—and zoomed in on Wedge Antilles, seated atop one of the library tables.

"In case you hadn't noticed when you were THERE," Wedge sharply continued, "he saved Lady I'Lai and her baby's lives. If he'd waited around for your rookie asses, that Bothan would have killed them both by the time you guys decided to showed up."

"Oh yeah, flyboy, he's a real hero," the young sergeant named Craner scoffed, wiping his nose. "Didn't see the Bothan, did ya? Takes a lotta guts to fry someone into charcoal."

Fett clenched his eyes shut.

"Good thing we got the Lady away from him, or else he probably would have snuffed her too."

Tycho Celchu stood up. "He said leave it alone, Craner."

Craner also stood—as did several of his comrades. "Why you throttle jockeys standin' up for him? A year ago he was runnin' with the Empire. Or did you forget what he did to General Solo?"

"Knock it off!" Pilots' and soldiers' heads alike turned to the door, then the assembly snapped to attention when they saw General Rieekan standing in the doorway. He glared his subordinates down for a brief moment before focusing on Sergeant Craner. "Your loyalty to General Solo is admirable, Craner. Now keep it to yourself."

"Yes, sir."

Rieekan stepped to the side and let Dr. Him'bron enter the room.

Him'bron strode across the library floor straight to the balcony. Once he had stepped out, Fett requested over his shoulder, "Close the doors." Him'bron nodded and complied, turning and shutting the glass doors. Only when the doors were closed did Fett show any hint of reaction. "What's happening?" he asked harshly.

"Kai is fine," Him'bron reassured him. "Exhausted and a few bruises, but perfectly fine. I don't believe he should suffer any future trauma because of this."

"I'Lai?" Fett snapped, grabbing Him'bron's arm. "What about I'Lai?"

Him'bron regarded the bounty hunter for a moment, taking in a deep breath before saying, "The bite was deep, but not too deep, and she suffered no serious blood loss but…" He paused. "She has a heart murmur she didn't have before. Her brain scan is completely abnormal, showing dangerously heightened activity in her frontal lobe and…she's in severe shock."

Him'bron heard Fett take a long breath. "Will she die?"

"No," the doctor answered softly, "but she's not well. She's sedated and resting now." He knit his brow. "What happened in that ship?"

"I…don't know."

"Why didn't you come in with her?"

"They wouldn't let me. Took her and Kai away from me at the docking bay, and held me there at blasterpoint." A bitter chuckle. "They're keeping an eye on me. Rieekan wasn't pleased by what he found in the foyer. Besides, these idiots don't know about I'Lai and me. I prefer to keep it that way…for her sake."

Him'bron nodded, and looked off toward the early evening sky. "So…when do I look at that knife wound?"

"It's fine," Fett lied.

"Dropping dead won't do I'Lai or your son any favors, Fett."

The Mandelorian helm turned away from the doctor toward the low sun. His voice was low. "Won't it?"

Him'bron was about to royally chastise the bounty hunter when the roar of engines shrieked over their heads. He looked up to see the Millennium Falcon, flanked by Luke Skywalker's X-wing, clear the roof of the palace, pivot and descend to the great lawn.

"That would be General Calrissian." Him'bron turned to go. "I better get down there." He was abruptly stopped by Fett, who grabbed his coat, pulled him to his a side, and threw his arm around his waist.

"Hang on," Fett grunted as he ignited his jetpack and shot off the balcony. Him'bron gasped and instinctively threw his arms around Fett's neck as they flew over the activity below toward the landing Falcon. The Falcon's ramp opened just as Luke, landing behind it, climbed out of his hatch and ran over. Fett landed a few meters from the ramp, releasing Him'bron, who hurried toward the Falcon. A flurry of medical personnel surrounded the ramp as Lando, hooked up to numerous IV's, was pushed down on his stretcher by Han and the Pathfinder medic.

Him'bron pulled a bio-scanner from his coat. "Status?"

"Critical," answered the medic. "Heart rate and blood pressure are stable, but weak. Body temp is high—I applied bacta, and antibiotic IV, but I think infection is setting in."

"We have to get him in a bacta tank, NOW. Get him in there."

As they hurried the stretcher toward the great ballroom doors, Lando, awake and feverish, caught sight of Boba Fett standing several meters away, observing. He bolted up against the stretcher belts, freeing his good arm from the restraints, and pointed at the bounty hunter. "YOU!" he yelled, struggling. The party stopped, and all heads turned Fett's way. Lando continued his fevered rant. "They came because of YOU! You brought them here! You son of a BITCH!"

"Sedate him!" Him'bron barked at the medic, as Lando continued to thrash against his restraints with Han trying to hold him down. Hurriedly, the medic prepared a syringe, and stuck it in Lando's arm. Lando almost immediately calmed, flopping back on the stretcher, his head rolling side to side as his chest heaved for air. Han said nothing but, as he gently pulled the blanket back over Lando, shot a deadly glare at Fett before continuing to push his friend toward the palace.

Luke, who had kept a short distance from the scene, bowed his head and sighed before shooting a glance at Fett. Fett hadn't moved. He stood perfectly still, his only movement being the turning of his helm as he watched Solo, Him'bron, and the rest of the medical party disappear through the ballroom doors. Luke broke into a trot toward the bounty hunter. "Fett," he breathed as he stopped in front of him, "He's delirious. He didn't mean it."

"Yes he did. And he's right." Fett tore away from the Jedi and broke into a fierce stride back toward the balcony.

Luke followed. "Where are you going?"

"To see I'Lai." _And do what I should have done the day I met her_, he added silently.

Luke nodded as he came up behind him. "I'll come with you. I desperately have to speak to her about—"

Luke never finished the sentence. With astounding speed, Fett stopped, spun around, and grabbed Luke by the front of his flight suit. He brutally hoisted the smaller man from the ground as is if he no more than a child, holding him just above his shoulders. Several Republic troops saw this and immediately came running, blasters aimed, shouting orders at the bounty hunter to drop their superior officer.

"NO!" Luke hollered back at the troops. "Drop your weapons! DROP THEM! Fall back, NOW! That's an order!" Reluctant and confused, the troops obeyed, stepping back. Luke turned back to Fett's visor. "Put me down, Fett," he demanded calmly.

"Listen to me carefully, Skywalker," Fett growled lethally deep within his throat, tightening his grip on Luke's suit and pulling him even closer to his mask, "because I'm only going to say this once." He punched every word for clarity. "Stay away from my family! You and your sorcery have caused enough damage."

"Fett, you don't understand what's going on here! She needs my help, she's in danger! Do you want her to become like—" He stopped.

"Like who?"

The words did not come easy. "Like _Vader?_"

Slowly, Fett lowered Luke and let him go. He glared at the young Jedi. "That won't happen."

"Why not?"

"I won't let it."

"You can't stop it."

"Watch me." He gave Luke a shove before turning and continuing toward the balcony.

"Then explain what happened in that ship, Fett," Luke called after him. "Tell me what happened to that Bothan."

Fett stopped just shy of the balcony's edge, turned, and growled, "He got what he deserved." With that, his jetpack fired, and he shot up and over the balcony rail.

He hit the brick terrace and continued his stride, never breaking his rhythm. Flinging the glass doors open, he stomped into the library, roughly shoving aside any pilot or soldier remotely in his path. Rieekan held his ground in the doorway. "Where are you going, Fett?" Fett answered him by shoulder-butting him aside as he exited the library. "Fett…!"

Fett ignored him, ignored the troops following him, ignored the gawks and stares of the Republic and Orrian personnel as they backed out of his way as he pounded down the glistening corridors…and did what he could do ignore the warm stickiness now running freely again under his suit and down his leg, as his impulsive actions of the past few minutes had just reopened his knife wound…

She hadn't awoken completely yet, but the damp sensation felt refreshing on her brow, and she smiled softly. Her eyes closed, she nestled her head a little deeper in the soft pillow, and inhaled the light scent of lilac she liked to spray throughout her chambers. Sounds from the room began to infiltrate her consciousness—the soft breeze from her the terrace doors, a glass of water being poured, the strange beeping of what sounded like a medical monitor. A hand slid into hers, and she grasped and squeezed it, her smile spreading…until she realized it was small and soft, and not the rough and calloused hand that had become so dear to her…

I'Lai's eyes bulged open, gasping for air, and tore her hand away from Leia Organa's. "Wh-what are _you_ doing here?" she demanded breathlessly.

"Sssh, I'Lai, it's all right now," Leia soothed, sitting on the edge of the bed, "You're safe, it's over." She reached for her arm…

But I'Lai recoiled, shrinking back into the pillows. "Where is Kai?!" In a panic, her eyes moving wildly over her room, she shrieked, "Where is my son?!" She tried to sit up. "What have you done with him?!"

Furrowing her brow, Leia responded softly, "He's all right, I'Lai, he's with Nikoa in the nursery."

I'Lai suddenly grasped Leia's hand, her voice a choked whisper. "Please don't take him away, Leia…please, I'm begging you…don't take him from me…please…"

"I'Lai, shh," Leia caressed her forehead as she tenderly pushed I'Lai back into the pillows.

"You will, yes you will! You and Luke, you'll take him, because that's what Jedi do! They take… the babies…" Dizziness spun in her head, and she fell back against her pillows, crying.

Worried, Leia picked the damp cloth off the bed and rinsed it again in the basin on the nightstand, folding it and replacing it on I'Lai's forehead. She grasped the glass of water, leaning over and offering it. "Here, I'Lai, drink…"

She did, lifting her head slightly to better sip, then lying back. She opened her tear-soaked eyes. "Why…why are you here, Leia?"

"Because I'm your friend," Leia murmured, smiling softly, touching her face. "I care about you."

I'Lai's eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. "Do you?"

Leia straightened up, taken aback and hurt. "Yes, I'Lai, I do," she answered simply.

I'Lai squeezed her eyes closed as new tears formed. "Leia…I'm…I'm so sorry. I thought you…"

Leia ran a gentle finger through the new white streak in I'Lai's hair. "You thought I what?"

I'Lai pulled way from her caress, rolling to her side and burying her face in the pillows. "Please, Leia, forgive me …" she sobbed quietly, "Forgive me…please forgive me…"

Leia closed her own eyes to stop the tears from flowing. The utter despair and terror she felt in I'Lai's soul was almost too much for her to bear.

"Madam," asked the medical droid next to the monitor, "should I send for the doctor?"

"No, Two-One-Bee," Leia answered softly, "he can't help her with this…"

…………

"Fett, I'm warning you, STOP!" Rieekan shouted after him. I'Lai's bedchamber lay just a few meters up the corridor, and Rieekan gestured to the Pathfinder guard in front of her door.

As Fett ferociously came toward him, the young man stepped in front of him and put up his hand. "You can't go in there, by order of General Rie—"

To which Fett answered him by grabbing his uniform, throwing him across the hall against the wall, and punching the door controls open.

Leia's head snapped up as Fett stormed in. He stopped, however, when he saw Leia sitting on the edge of the bed. His visor lingered over I'Lai sobbing in her bed, before he turned to her. "Your Excellency," he said quietly, civilly, "I want to be alone with I'Lai."

Before she could answer, Rieekan appeared behind Fett in the door, with two troops behind him with their weapons raised. "Fett, you're coming with us—"

"No," ordered Leia, raising her hand. She got up. "General, it's all right. He has a right to see her." She walked towards the door, gesturing to a reluctant Rieekan to follow.

Fett looked at the Two-One-Bee Unit. "You too. Out." The unit glanced at its patient for a moment, then back at the bounty hunter, before disengaging from the medical console and wheeling out of the room, the doors closing behind it.

Slowly, attentively, Fett came around the bed, sitting lightly on the edge. He reached up and unlocked his helm from his armor, lifting it off his head and setting it on the floor. He removed his gloves, all the while gazing on I'Lai. She looked so small, so frail under her crumple of blankets, her face still buried in her pillows. "I'Lai?" he whispered, reaching to touch her silken hair…

Only to have her retreat from him, curling herself into a ball. Her voice was small, weak, and hopeless. "No…please, Boba. Don't touch me."

He shut his eyes tight, and bowed his head. Of course she didn't want him touching her. It was his fault this happened, he lead them here. The pain in his side was nothing compared to the anguish now gripping his heart…

Until he heard her rasp, "I'm a monster."

He lifted his head. "I'Lai, no."

"I killed someone."

"You were protecting our son, and yourself. No one can blame you for that."

"I killed him with the Force, Boba." It was then she turned to face him, and he swallowed the anger seething inside him as he once again saw the vicious bruises marring her angelic face. Her eyes, as teal and clear and lush as ever, brimmed over with complete desolation. "I stood there, and I burned him to death." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm damned."

He leaned over her, touching her face. "I'Lai, they all think I did it. Let them think that. No one has to know."

"Luke knows," she whispered. "Leia knows."

"So what?" he muttered.

"They could lock me away."

"I'd like to see them try."

She started to cry softly. "Boba…I'm so scared…something…is happening to me…something terrible…and I can't stop it…" She turned away…

Only to have Fett pull her back to face him. "No you don't. You don't look away, you tell me, now. What's happening to you?"

She opened her eyes, and gazed at his face. That scarred, battered, swarthy face that most would consider unappealing, even frightening, but what she had always deemed as nothing less than beautiful. He caressed her cheek, running a very gentle thumb over the bruise near her eye. His expression was stern, but his eyes were soft, compassionate. She found courage in those bottomless pools of onyx, and when she spoke, the tremor was gone from her voice. "I wake up in the night screaming, and I never remember why. I find myself in rooms of the palace, and I have no idea how I got there. I lose time, all the time…Hours will have gone by, and I can't remember what did, or where I've been. I wake up on the floor sometimes, in the middle of the day. And I have…terrible thoughts." A breath. "Thoughts of lust, vengeance…power. I see a huge black fleet leaving a thousand planets burning in its wake. I see myself bathing naked in a bath of blood drawn from the conquered. I see Kai slaughtering hundreds of innocents, as I stand behind him and encourage him, reward him for it. I see… agony, destruction, death. All at my hand. And I feed off it. I welcome it." She closed her eyes. "I walk these halls in terror, all day. And anger…I feel so much rage, so much…_betrayal,_ that I am driven mad by it…And the only thing that comforts me is…the dark. I'll stare into the night for hours, it…calls to me…" She paused briefly, taking another breath, before she opened her eyes and ended, "And I always feel like I'm being watched."

"By who?" he asked, barely a whisper.

"I…I don't know…" she answered softly, tearfully, shaking her head. "I can't see it, I can't hear it, but…I can feel it, Boba. I can feel eyes on me…all the time…" Her breathing started to become erratic. "I can feel it in my blood…"

Although many would think I'Lai had gone insane, Fett, having experienced her abilities through the bond they obviously shared, knew better. He pressed on, trying to keep her focused. "Is it here now?" She shook her head. "Is that what happened today?"

She nodded. "I don't even remember it, Boba. All I remember is…smelling something burning…" A single tear rolled from her eye.

Fett drew his lips into a thin line. "How long has this been going on?" he demanded quietly.

"Since you left."

"Damn it, I'Lai. All those transmissions…why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I was afraid." A soft sob broke from her throat when he saw him bow his head and curl his fist. "I know how you feel about the Force. I was afraid that…if you knew what was happening, you'd never come back."

He lifted his eyes again, locking onto hers in a muted glare. "That was foolish."

"But now you have to leave me."

"What?"

"Leave me, and take Kai with you. Tonight. Never come back."

"I'Lai," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Boba!" she cried, bolting up, hitting his armored chest with her fists. "I could do it again! And who would be next? You, maybe…or even…" The thin wall of control crumbled, and a wail of anguish erupted from her throat. "And they'll come for me, Boba, they'll lock me away where I can never hurt anyone again, and they'll take Kai, and I'll never see him again…and I'd rather have him with you than with strangers, locked away in some temple…" She shoved him violently. "Just leave me! Run! Take Kai and run! Before I hurt both of you! I…couldn't…go on living…if I hurt you…"

Her entire body wracked with her hysterical sobbing, but Fett would have none of it. He tangled his fingers into her hair and pulled her face in front of his. "Now you listen to me," he rumbled softly, his dark gaze piercing into her tear-soaked teal eyes, "I'm not going anywhere, understand? I am not leaving you, so get that fool idea out of your head right now. And Kai stays, right here, with _us_." He pulled her closer. "I am _not_ afraid of your power, I'Lai. No matter how horrible you may _think_ you are, blowing up a rapist with your mind doesn't even _compare _to what I've done the past thirty years. So you will _stop_ pushing me away, and you will _stop_ keeping things from me." He leaned in even closer. "And if anyone, and I mean ANYONE comes for you, they're going to have to get through _me first._"

"Boba…"

"I'm not finished," he murmured curtly, his eyes boring into hers. "Now you are going to do what I tell you, and I will not take no for an answer. Do you understand me?" She nodded, and calmed somewhat, but she still shuddered, her lip shaking as she looked into his eyes. Still holding her in his firmly tender grip, he stated gruffly, "Marry me."

The trembling stopped. "What?" she breathed, stunned.

"Marry me, today. Become my wife."

"You…want to…marry me?"

"Yes."

Her eyes glistened, and she furrowed her brow. "Why?"

He still held her gaze, but he sighed in mild exasperation. _She doesn't know why, _he thought And then he realized that I'Lai had no _reason_ to know why. Hadn't he ignored her for months during his recuperation from the Sarlaac, when she had rescued him and opened her home to him? When they finally did reconcile, he had left almost immediately afterwards, never giving her any idea as to when he would return. His transmissions to her were all in code, and consisted of little more than reports that he was still alive. _It was to protect her, and Kai._ But now he understood that he had done nothing to protect I'Lai from her own doubts…He had never told her how his body ached for her at night's fall, or how he would shove the whores of Nar Shaada away from him when they offered relief. He never told her that, as he worked, he would play the vid of her reading to Kai in his helmet, or how, as he looked into the night skies, he would seek out stars that matched the color of her eyes…

_Tell her now._

"Because," he murmured huskily, lifting his eyes to hers, "I want to bury myself inside you every night, and wake to your flesh around me. I want more young with you. I want to protect you, and teach you, and, " a breath, "I want you to teach me…how to…_live_." He lowered his eyes. "You make me feel…" He dropped his hands to her lap, flexing them in…frustration… as he grappled for words… "You've never… been…afraid of me, I'Lai…" He clenched his eyes shut as he bowed his head…

She spared him. She touched his face, combed her fingers through his spiked sable hair, and lifted his chin to meet her eyes, sparkling with tears. She leaned in and whispered against his lips, "Yes."

His eyes widened. "You will?" Tears flowed down her cheeks, but her smile was sweet, happy. He sighed sharply, blissfully, as he tangled his fingers into her plush ebon hair—he even thought the white streak was beautiful on her—and crushed his lips against hers, passionately, tenderly, intensely, over and over again, before wrapping his armored arms around her and crushing her against him, burying his face in her fragrant neck. He deeply breathed her in, caressing the satin of her skin with his scarred cheek and whispered hoarsely, tenderly, and urgently, "I love you."

A soft sob broke from her as she pulled him into her, wrapping herself around him, holding him as to never let go. The fierce embrace caused her bite wound to throb, but she didn't care. She cried into his hair, running her fingers through it, caressing his neck as she felt the chains of desolation and terror fall free from her soul. _He loves me_, she sang in her mind, over and over and over again, _he loves me._ _He loves me. He loves me…_

_He loves me._

_No._

_He loves me._

_No. No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOO!_

_…………_

"NOOOOOO!" The Sith Lord eyes flew open as his trance was broken by her voice undulating through the currents of the Force. He leapt to his nimble feet, crouching on the black stone slab as he tore at his horns. "No!" He launched off the slab to the cavern maw where he howled at the raging winds, "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" His voice, armored with the Dark Side, rippled through the winds, dispersing their current, hitting the apex of an ancient black rock formation, and shattering it into dust.

He slapped the sides of his head. _You will come to me! You will! You have tasted the Dark Side, Archae'el! You'll never be rid of me! I will haunt you every moment, every day, in your dreams—ARCHAE'EL! You are mine! MINE! MIIIIIIIIIIIINE!_

_…………_

_MIIIIIIINNNNNE!_

She heard it, his voice, somewhere in the depths of her consciousness, but…she merely closed her eyes and held her Boba even closer.

But suddenly and unexpectedly, Fett broke the embrace. He took her wrists, lowered her hands, and gently eased her back into the bed. "You need rest." Quickly, he pulled the blankets back over her, partly to warm her—but mostly, to hide the stain of his blood now soaking into her nightgown and on the bedsheets. "I'll handle everything." She smiled and nodded, touching his face once more. He brushed the lock of white back from her forehead, a subtle smile pulling his lips, before he turned and bent to pick up his helm—and sharply grunted.

She rose to her elbow, concern wrinkling her brow. "Boba, what's wrong?"

"Shhh…" he hushed, turning around and placing a finger on her lips. "Sleep." Again, she nodded and smiled, closing her eyes, nuzzling into the pillows. He watched her briefly, ensuring she was falling asleep, before he stood up, re-donned his helmet, and staggered to the door.

He stepped out—to see Leia Organa and General Rieekan standing in the hall. _Shit,_ he swore silently as he turned to go—

"Master Fett," Leia called softly behind him, "I'd like to have to a word with you."

He pulled himself straight, turning his back to them and his bleeding side towards the wall. "Make it quick."

Leia hesitated, glancing at General Rieekan, before stating, "Although the General and I do not condone…many of your actions today, I wanted to tell you that…you have done the Republic a great service in rescuing Lady I'Lai."

He shifted his helm over his shoulder slightly. "No disrespect, your Excellency, but…I didn't do it for you or the Republic."

"I know," she replied. "I understand your reasons and, now, so does the General." She sighed when she saw the bounty hunter's shoulders tense and his helm turn away. "He wanted to confine you, Fett. I had to tell him."

"Despite the fact that your excessive use of force was… unsettling, to put it mildly," Rieekan said crustily, "Nevertheless, I can't help but wonder if I hadn't gone to such lengths to save my own family." Fett heard him sigh behind him before he added, "In all my years of military service, I have never seen work like that. Where the hell did you get your training?"

"Nowhere," he grunted, swallowing down the nausea rising in his gullet. "I trained myself." He took a step forward--

"Fett, wait," Rieekan said, stepping toward him, "I want to talk to you about…an offer."

"Not now." His vision swirled…

"Fett," Leia piped in, "Please…I know you don't want any payment, but…we'd like to reward you somehow."

He stopped, and was silent for a moment, before turning over his shoulder again. "There is one way you can reward me."

"And that is?"

"I take it, President Organa, that you have some sway…with the intergalactic media?"

Leia nodded. "Yes, you could say that."

"Then this is what I want." He turned just enough so his visor was facing Leia fully. "I want you to issue an official statement saying…any rumors regarding Boba Fett's involvement in the battle of Orri Prime are exactly that—rumors. Boba Fett died on Tatooine, in the Pit of Carcoon, six months ago."

Leia took in a long, slow breath as she met Fett's eyes through his visor. "I…understand." She nodded, and smiled softly. "Consider it done."

Fett took a deep breath, despite the unbearable pain it caused him, nodded and murmured, "Now I have to talk to someone about getting married…" He turned again to leave.

"Maybe," Rieekan interjected, "I can help you with that."

Leia smiled, and touched his arm, before turning to Fett. "General Rieekan is also an Alderaani spiritual elder, and an ordained chaplain in the Republic forces."

"I can marry you both, if you wish. If you don't mind a military rite."

Fett stopped, and fought a stumble. His vision was tunneling, and their voices sounded muffled, even through his audio preceptors. "I would prefer it," he rasped, "but…I don't know about…I'Lai…"

The last point of light winked out within his eyes, and all went dark.

…………

Inside her chambers, I'Lai tried to sleep, but was too overjoyed to even close her eyes. However, her broad smile melted slightly when she realized she felt something sticky and wet on her nightgown…she reached down and patted the spot, and when she drew her hand to her face, it was covered in blood…

She ripped the covers off the bed, to see the dark red stain saturated into the bedding…

"Gods…" she gasped, "Boba…"

Her dread escalated to full-scale panic when she heard the crash just outside her door.

…………

"FETT!" Leia shrieked, running to the bounty hunter sprawled on the floor, falling to her knees. Rieekan followed, kneeling beside him and turning him on his back. It was only then Leia saw the gash under his armored vest, and the scarlet smear across the white marble floor. "He's bleeding!"

Rieekan snapped at one of the Pathfinder guards, "Get a medic! NOW!"

The bedchamber's doors swooshed open, and I'Lai stopped in the doorway, her nightgown stained from her hip to her knee. "BOBA!" She rushed to him and fell to her knees, taking his helmed head in her arms, cradling him. "No…no…"

…………

"If there is, indeed, a new star forming this day, let it shine its newborn aura down on these two beings, on this day, while they enmesh their hearts—"

"AAAAHHHGG!"

General Rieekan looked up from his prayer-pad. Fett, unhelmed, stripped bare to the waist and strapped to a med-bed, tensed his whole torso up and ripped an anguished growl out of his throat as Dr. Him'bron injected the surgical nanites into his wound. I'Lai held him close to her as she lay curled around him. He threw his cold glare at the doctor. "Do you have to do that _now_?" he hissed through hard breaths.

Unfazed, Him'bron didn't look up. "Do you want to live long enough make it to, 'Till death do us part?'" He glanced slightly toward the Two-One-Bee unit. "Apply more local."

Fett fell back against the thin pillow, panting, as the med droid sprayed local anesthesia across his open wound and Him'bron continued his work repairing Fett's slashed ribs. I'Lai gently wiped his sweating brow and chest with a soft cloth. "Boba, please," she pleaded soothingly in his ear, "let the doctor give you something."

"No," he grunted, firmly shaking his head, "No drugs." He turned to face her, sliding his arm out from the restraint to caress her cheek. "I want to remember this." I'Lai smiled, and caught his hand in her own. He glanced at Rieekan. "Well? Go on."

Rieekan threw an exasperated glance to Him'bron, who just shrugged and shook his head, before clearing his throat and continuing the reading. "…and declare their love for the universe to bless…"

From across the med center, Nikoa, lying in her own med bed and door holding a sleeping Kai, listened to Rieekan's litany. At one point, I'Lai turned her eyes from the General to her entrusted maid, smiling warmly and happily. Nikoa did what she could to mimic I'Lai's smile, even as Maul's velvet voice slinked through her mind, and invisible talons clutched at her throat…

_You have failed me._

Nikoa squeezed her eyes shut as she attempted to take a breath. _Master, I did not know…their bond was…that potent…_

_It was your duty to know, treasure. I have kept you alive this long…only to have you fail?_

_Master—_

_All future sons will be useless to me now. They will be children born of…LOVE._

Nikoa heard him snarl that last word as though it was filth. _Master, if need be, take my life now. I most humbly give it to you for my failure…_

_Oh, no, my treasure…your work here is not yet done. _There was a pause_. Archae'el has not yet awakened, but she has stirred. Perhaps the way to wake her fully…is through Domein…_

Nikoa gasped a deep breath when she felt the claws release her throat. She looked down at the baby in her arms, who looked back at her with those astounding eyes that seemed far too mature for his age. _That will take much time, Master. Years perhaps._

_Yes…it will…_

"Do you, I'Lai…er…" Rieekan paused from his recitation to glance up from his prayer-pad. "Lady I'Lai…what is your last name?"

I'Lai hesitated, glancing at Fett, who in turn seemed to ask the same question with his dark eyes. "I…have no last name, General. As a courtesan and concubine, I was deemed Imperial property, and hence it was illegal to possess a surname."

"I see. Well then…do you, I'Lai, take this man, Boba Fett—"

"Mareel," Fett rasped abruptly.

The General glanced up again. "Excuse me?"

Fett sighed, and repeated, "Mareel. Jaster Mareel." He turned to I'Lai and murmured, "Boba Fett is dead."

I'Lai gasped, as realization sunk in. "Boba…no…"

"I swore to protect you, I'Lai." He laced his calloused fingers through her soft tapered ones. "This is the only way I can."

She gazed at him, mouth agape, tears swelling in her eyes, before she cupped his face and kissed him hungrily, passionately. He eagerly returned the kiss, taking her lips with ardent force, ensnaring his fingers through her hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her leg around his.

Standing at the foot of the med bed, Rieekan huffed and snapped the prayer-pad off. "I now pronounce you man and wife you may now kiss the bride," he finished irritably.

"I hate to intrude upon this moment," Him'bron added to the couple locked in their zeal, "but would you please hold still and lie back so I can finish performing surgery on you?"

I'Lai broke from Fett's lips, blushing and smiling shyly. A subtle smile crossed Fett's lips as well as he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand before complying. "How does it look?"

"Better than before," Him'bron answered. He turned to Two-One-Bee. "Suture." The droid handed him small, pen-like device. "Now hold still." Very carefully, he ran the point of the device along the gash. As the tip traced the wound, the edges closed up behind its trail. Fett winced, clenching his jaw, and held his breath until the doctor had closed it all the way. "All right, done." He gestured over Fett's scarred torso. "You have a new one to add to the collection." He pressed a button on the side of the bed, and the restraints popped off and slid back in their housings.

Carefully, Fett pushed himself up to rest on his elbows, examining the newly closed injury. "How long will I be on my back?"

"If your DNA hadn't been scrambled by some two-bit quack on the Outer Rim, I'd say two days. But you…a few hours." Without warning, Him'bron grasped Fett's arm, pulled it taut, and sank a hypo into his vein.

Fett scowled, aggravated. "Haven't you seen enough of my blood for one day?"

"This is for a test."

"What test?"

"A midichilorian count."

"A what?"

Him'bron withdrew the hypo and capped it. "General Skywalker wants to know why you and Lady I'Lai seem to have a Force-bond. He's running a test to see if you are, indeed, a Force-sentient."

"You can tell Skywalker to kiss my—"

"Boba," I'Lai interrupted with firm gentility, running her fingers across his cheek. Fett glanced up at her, and his lip pulled up in a smirk.

"And you," Him'bron admonished gently, focusing on I'Lai. "I don't care how good you feel right now, no more running and traipsing around! If you must be with him, you lie here and rest! I'll be back to check on you both in a couple hours." His gruff scowl melted away into that warm, fatherly smile I'Lai found so endearing. "And congratulations, my dearest."

"Thank you, Dr. Him'bron," I'Lai murmured, smiling back.

"Dr. Him'bron," Rieekan said as the doctor passed him, "Would you be so kind as to ask her Excellency to come in?"

"But of course, General." Him'bron went through the sliding doors and walked a few paces down the corridor to the neighboring room. He palmed the door and walked in, chirping, "And how are we feeling?"

"Why do doctors always say that?" grumbled Lando from his bed, his arm and shortened leg hoisted up in traction. "Tell you what—I'll cut off your leg and then you can tell me, OK?" His joke was met with the soft laughter of Han, Chewbacca, Leia, and Luke all surrounding his bed.

Him'bron frowned. "If I had the choice of facing off three dozen blood-thirsty mercenaries or having to deal with all the surly patients I've had today, I think I'd take the mercenaries right now." As the others chuckled again, he pulled the bio-scanner from his pocket and ran it over Lando. "Have you found one you like yet?"

Lando glanced at the viewer screen to his side and the prosthetic legs it displayed. "They all look the same to me. As long as it doesn't interfere with my… 'social agenda', I really don't care. But," he added, holding up his arm, "the color has to be a perfect match."

"Hey," Luke interjected jovially, holding up his cybernetic hand, "mine matches pretty well."

"Is that why you always wear that black glove?"

Han chuckled, as did Chewie, but Leia threw a mildly anxious glance at Luke, as she knew the reasons behind the glove. But her unease was assuaged when Luke merely smirked and said, "Fashion statement."

Lando chuckled weakly, then turned to Him'bron. "Well?"

Him'bron looked up from his bio-scanner, and smiled. "You're fever's down, your blood count looks favorable. You're going to be just fine in a few days. But hurry up and pick one—the sooner you choose, the sooner you'll be walking again."

Lando nodded, then lifted his chin. "Dr. Him'bron…how is I'Lai?"

"She's much better, Baron. Her heart has returned to a normal beat, her brain activity has calmed, and I'm sure the wedding has definitely helped her spirits."

Lando's face fell. "Wedding?"

"Well, yes, Baron. She married Master Fett not more than five minutes ago. Didn't anyone tell you?"

Lando's eyes shifted to meet those of his friends, all of whom turned theirs away to some other point in the room. He sighed and, setting his jaw straight, turned back to Him'bron. "Give her my congratulations when you see her again, Doctor."

"I most certainly will. Oh, your Excellency, General Rieekan wishes you to join him in the other room."

Leia nodded, and leaned over to squeeze Lando's hand before standing and heading for the door. Luke patted Lando's arm and followed her and Dr. Him'bron, leaving Han and Chewbacca alone with Lando.

Han glanced down at his friend, who was staring at nothing on the wall. "You OK?"

Lando shrugged. "She made her choice."

"Would it make you feel any better if I said I don't agree with it?"

"Not really." Chewbacca grunted something, and Lando glanced at Han. "What did he say?"

"He said he's sorry. And so am I, buddy."

Lando drew his lips into a bemused smirk. "I gotta say, I've had some shitty days in my life, but this one has definitely been the shittiest so far."

…………

As Leia strode through the doors of Fett's room, Luke stayed behind with Dr. Him'bron. "Did you get the sample?"

"Right here." Him'bron handed him the hypo of Fett's blood.

"He didn't argue?"

"I think after taking on a small army and losing a couple pints of blood, he'd calmed down a bit. Although he was somewhat adamant about you kissing a certain part of his anatomy."

Luke smirked as he sunk the tip of the hypo into the small bio-scanner he pulled from his flight suit pocket. He closely perused the data blipping across the tiny screen before sighing. "1500. Almost negligible, but it could be enough for him to block out a Force-user…or let one in." He looked up. "Do you have the other one?"

Him'bron pulled another hypo from his pocket. "I got it a little while ago, when she was under sedation. But I don't understand, General Skywalker—I thought we already ran a midicholorian count on Lady I'Lai."

"We did. But…I want to run another one. I just have a strange feeling." Again, he ran a scan, but this time, he breathed a sharp breath of alarm. "That's not possible."

"What?"

"40,000 mids." Luke looked at the doctor with dread in his eyes. "Her count went up."

………….

As Leia came through the med-room doors, Rieekan slid the payer-pad into his vest pocket. "All right, down to business." He turned to Fett, his heavy brows once again drawn together in stern expectation. "We have a few questions we'd like to ask you, Master…Mareel, namely…what happened to Czethros?"

Fett felt I'Lai's hand anxiously tighten around his fingers. "I don't know," he muttered, his gaze sharp within Rieekan's glare. "I left him there for the your men. I made sure he wouldn't go anywhere."

"And how did you go about ensuring that?"

"I ripped out his bionic eye."

Leia and Rieekan glanced at each other with mild displeasure before Rieekan pressed on. "Then how can you explain his escape?"

"I can't."

Rieekan folded his arms. "There are those within my ranks, Fett, that believe you may have had some hidden agenda underneath all this. Many who believe that, because of your past dealings with the underworld, that you and Czethros had some sort of partnership—"

"Tell your ranks to take one good look at my wife," Fett growled quietly, his eyes slitting dangerously. I'Lai squeezed his hand nervously as she turned the more badly bruised side of her face away.

"Master Fett is telling the truth," came a low female voice from across the room. They turned to look at Nikoa in her bed, still holding Kai. Her lip quivered slightly when she said, "I helped him escape."

"What?" I'Lai gasped.

Nikoa's eyes suddenly grew afraid, darting back and forth at Leia and Rieekan, and her words came in short, anxious gasps. "I…was hiding in the kitchen when all the commotion in the foyer started. I became frightened and took the servants' stairs up to the second floor. I wanted to help her Ladyship but…I am just an old woman, how could I possibly get her away from Czethros and that horrible beast of his?" She started to cry softly. "I hid in a doorway near her office…I heard all this terrible yelling, and then I heard blaster shots, and my Lady screaming…I was so terrified for her…and then, I heard a man scream. I thought it was possibly Master Fett, so I ran toward the skywalk. But when I got there, I saw it was Czethros. He seemed to be in horrible pain and, despite everything he had done, I couldn't just leave him there to suffer…" She wiped a conjured tear from her cheek. "I went to help him, but…he pulled out a blaster and forced me to help him escape!" Her sobs became deeper. "He held the blaster to my head and made me lead him outside to one of his Snipers. And then…he…hit me…" Nikoa's thin body heaved fiercely with the force of her sobs. "I'm so sorry…I tried to stop him…"

"Nikoa," I'Lai breathed, sliding off the bed and moving to her, wrapping her arms around her maid and son. "It's all right, there's nothing you could have done…"

As she soothed her old friend, Fett watched on, his eyes narrowing with misgiving as he remembered that Czethros' blaster had skidded at least two meters away from him during their fight…

Leia sighed heavily. "How he got past our defense perimeters, I have no idea, but…what's done is done. He's gone." She straightened herself and prepared herself for the next question, which was not an easy one for her to ask. "Now…who killed the Bothan?"

There was a short silence before Fett and I'Lai both answered simultaneously, "I did."

"I'Lai, no."

"I won't let you lie for me, Boba," I'Lai said calmly. She took a step toward Leia and Rieekan, and drew herself straight and regal before them. She looked Leia right in the eye. "I killed him."

"With the Force?"

"Yes." She swallowed hard. "And I am willing to accept the consequences."

Leia opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Fett. "It was self-defense," he rumbled with cold bluntness. "He would have raped her and killed my son. She didn't have a choice, and you know it."

Leia dropped her eyes to her lap before raising them to I'Lai. "Is this true?" I'Lai nodded. "Can you tell me exactly what happened, I'Lai?"

"No, Leia, I can't. I don't remember any of it."

"I see." The young President sat quietly for a moment. Although I'Lai stood composed before her, Leia could feel the fear and shame emanating from her through the Force. She glanced briefly to Fett, and for a brief moment, she locked into his glare. She took a breath before she spoke. "Since this incident falls within the jurisdiction of the Jedi and is not a matter of state, I feel it is better if General Skywalker handle this." She rose from her seat, turning to I'Lai. "I will speak with him this evening, and we can arrange for you to meet. Agreed?" I'Lai nodded, casting her eyes to the floor. Leia, stepping toward her, touched her cheek. "I will speak with him," she repeated in a gentle, assuring tone. I'Lai cupped her hand over Leia's and nodded again. Leia broke away and turned to Rieekan. "I think all further concerns can wait until tomorrow, General."

Rieekan nodded. "Agreed."

"We'll contact you in the morning. Please, get some rest, I'Lai." Leia moved to Nikoa's bed and took her withered hand. "Mistress Nikoa, there is no reason to fear. We are all just relieved that you were not seriously hurt, and I commend you on your bravery."

Nikoa simpered, and squeezed Leia's hand. "Thank you, your Excellency."

Leia rose, and stepped toward Fett. She outstretched her hand. "Again, on the behalf of the New Republic, I would like to thank you for your service today."

Fett eyed Leia's hand, then lifted his glare to her face. A small gasp caught in her throat as she heard his words through her mind…

_Take her from me, and you will have to deal with me._

As Leia returned Fett's glare, a new understanding lit in her mind, growing ever darker with each second as her consciousness streamed…

She forced a sharp breath, and blinked. She lowered her hand. She murmured, "You have my word."

Fett said nothing more.

Without another word, Leia turned and left the room. Rieekan turned to I'Lai and took her hand. "Your Ladyship," he murmured as he bent and kissed it. He then turned to Fett. "We'll resume tomorrow," he said tersely before he strode out the door.

The nanosecond the doors slid closed, Fett unsnapped the bed's restraints, bolted off the bed, and strode to his armor piled in a nearby chair. "Get Kai."

I'Lai furrowed her brow. "Boba, what are you doing?"

"We're getting out of here," he declared quietly as he hoisted his armored vest and jet pack off the chair and snapped it around his bare torso.

"What?" A slight pang of panic gripped her chest. She suddenly had visions of Fett blasting his way off the planet…"Where are we going?"

Hearing the nervousness in her voice, Fett turned to her and, with a slight reassuring smile, said, "Not far. Somewhere quiet." He donned his helm, then stretched his hand toward her. "My place."

I'Lai breathed a slight sigh of relief, and smiled. She went to Nikoa in her bed slipped her arms under Kai. "Don't worry, Nikoa," she murmured, noting the wary, worried look in her maid's eye. "We'll be all right. Just rest." Reluctantly, Nikoa released her hold on Kai, and I'Lai cradled him in her arms as she came toward Fett. Fett lifted her into his arms and moved toward the window. As he moved, I'Lai giggled softly and opened the windows by use of the Force. Without breaking his stride, Fett stepped up on the sill, ignited his jetpack, and flew out of the room.

………………

_You can't be serious._

_Leia—_

_Do you know what you're suggesting?_

_I'm not talking about imprisoning her—_

_That's exactly what you're saying, Luke._

_I'm suggesting that she live permanently at the Temple. Leia, you don't understand how powerful she really is! She needs training! She's too dangerous to—_

_Be free?_

_Be untrained._

"Have I mentioned lately," Han grumbled from his sprawled position on the couch, his head back and eyes fixed on the ceiling, "how much I hate it when you two do that?"

Leia and Luke simultaneously shot irritated looks at Han before darting them back at each other. "I'm not separating her from her son and husband, Luke."

"It wouldn't be forever," Luke huffed, pacing across the Falcon's hold. "Just a few years—"

"Of complete isolation."

"Of intensive training. They would be years out of my life too, Leia."

Leia clenched her eyes before springing them open. "I have to say no, Luke. I cannot publicly condone this."

"Publicly condone?" Luke's mouth gaped as he stared at his sister. "This isn't about politics!"

"Of course it's about politics," Leia replied coolly. "This is our first military victory as the New Republic. And my first wartime act as the president of a newly-established egalitarian government will not be confining a popular public figure on no other grounds but that we _suspect_ she may become a dangerous."

"Kinda sounds like someone we just overthrew, doesn't it" Han muttered, unmoving.

Luke stopped pacing. Sighing hard, he looked at her. "You felt her today, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," Leia replied, reaching for her mug of caf on the holochess table.

"Then you realize how strong she is."

"Yes." She looked at him intently. "But you also realize why she did it."

"Leia, I'm not talking about her reasons behind killing him, but the method. It was the Dark Side, pure and simple."

"I'm not confining her, Luke. There has to be another way." She took a sip from her mug.

Luke slumped on the couch next to Han, and ran a hand through his hair. "There are a lot of factors involved here that you don't understand—"

"Then how about enlightening me?" Leia snapped softly and sat down.

Luke paused, taking in a deep breath. "I can't yet. Not until I get all the facts."

"Well then, until you can present me with all the facts, I'Lai stays here, with her family, and in her governor's seat." She took another sip, then lowered the mug to gaze thoughtfully at her brother. "Luke, I know you're concerned but…this is the way things work. It's all about compromise."

"I never thought you'd put your public image ahead of the good of the galaxy, Leia," Luke muttered.

Han lifted his head and gawked at his brother-in-law. Leia stiffened in her seat and raised her chin in that particularly patronizing way that always irked Luke. "And I never thought you, of all people, would _ever_ suggest incarcerating a wife and mother simply because you fear her, Luke."

Luke glared at his sister, hurt and offended, before pushing himself off the couch, grabbing his cloak, and striding fiercely toward the hatch.

"Kid," Han called after him, "come on, where you going?"

"I need some air," Luke snapped as he stomped down the Falcon's ramp into the late summer night.

The hold was silent for a few moments before Han cracked, "Well, that was pleasant."

"He's tired," Leia murmured, rubbing her eyes. "We all are."

"He was like this during the party on Coruscant, too. He just about snapped my head off when I mentioned I'Lai. I don't think it's all exhaustion."

"He's the only Jedi in the galaxy right now, Han. He feels personally responsible for the actions of anyone under his guidance. Yes, I think he's overreacting but…I understand why."

Han eyed her caringly. "You know he didn't mean that thing about your image, Leia."

"I know." She finished the last of the caf in her mug. "Luke is a magnificent man. He is selfless, idealistic, and wholly committed to restoring the Jedi Order. But Luke is not is a politician. He doesn't understand the intricacies involved."

Han nodded, and stretched his longs legs. "Refill?"

Leia smiled and handed her mug to him. "Please." Han took the mug and walked into the galley. "How is Lando?" she called after him.

"Physically, he's fine," Han called back, pouring the caf into mugs.

Leia tilted her chin. "But…?"

With one in each hand, he came back out. "He's putting in for a transfer." Handing a mug to Leia, Han shook his head. "I tell ya, I've known Lando a long time, and I've never seen him this hung up on a woman. And then she goes and actually marries that bounty hunting creep." He blew a disgusted breath between his teeth. "I'Lai could have any man in the galaxy. I just don't understand what a beautiful girl like that sees in that ugly mug."

Han didn't see Leia's eyebrow cock at his mention of I'Lai's beauty, but he certainly heard her when she softly remarked, "I do," into her mug before taking a drink.

Irritably, he set his mug a little too hard on the holochess table and folded his arms over his chest. "OK, that's it."

Leia looked up innocently. "That's what?"

"What is this 'thing' between you and Fett?" he demanded harshly.

She knit her brows. "I don't follow you."

"Well, let's go down the list, shall we? First, you have Lando and me go all the way to Tatooine, in hostile space, to go dig his ass out of a sand dune—"

"You volunteered for that, Solo. And I told you my reasons why."

"THEN you agree to have him released from I'Lai's custody—"

"He was never technically a prisoner of the Republic, Han. I trusted I'Lai's judgment—"

"THEN you hire him on this operation and let him do whatever the hell he wants." He glared at her with the same mix of hurt and indignity she saw earlier in Luke's eyes. "And all this time, I've wracked my brain trying to figure out why. Why, Leia?"

She closed her eyes, and lowered her head. "I have my reasons, Han."

"Is it because you've just forgotten what he did to me, to _us_ on Bespin?"

She snapped her head back up, and Han immediately recognized the quiet fury that could simmer in her chocolate eyes. "No Han, it's not because I have forgotten. It's because I remember _precisely _what he did to us on Bespin, and in Jabba's palace."

Han scowled, confused. "Come again?"

"It's complicated."

"What, more 'political intricacies?'"

"Yes." She held his glare firm as she took a deep breath. "You want my reasons, Han. All right, here's the first and foremost reason: We _need_ him."

Slowly, Han took a seat. "What do you mean, we need him?"

She sighed. "If today proved anything to me, Han, it proved that this fight has taken on an entirely new and frightening aspect. It seems the Empire is taking on new recruits… and they're recruiting powerful heads of organized crime."

"Leia, you know as well as I do that the Imps have always used crime lords in their under-the-table dealings—"

"But not like this, Han. They've never actually used them in combat, fought side by side with them. If it is true what Chewie said earlier, that Czethros bought the Destroyer, that means the Empire was working for _him_, and not the other way around. Can you imagine the ramifications of vast Imperial technology landing in the hands of criminals?" She leaned forward. "It would be an entirely new war. A war that I'm not positive we could win with the forces we have now."

Han paused before lifting his eyes to hers. "So what does Fett have to do with all this?"

She straightened up. "Boba Fett is a dangerous man—too dangerous not to have a cause. And after seeing what he is capable of, Han, I came to the conclusion that…if it ever came to a time when a man like him had to choose sides, I want him to choose _mine_." She paused. "And I can give him something the Empire or a crime syndicate can't."

Han sat back. "Meaning I'Lai?"

"Yes." She looked away when she saw the incredulous expression on his face. "Don't look at me like that."

"Gods, Leia," Han breathed, "do you realize what kind of gamble you're taking here? Kest, you saw what he did today—"

"And how many stormtroopers did you leave dead on the battlefield today? How many pilots did you shoot down?" she retorted quietly.

"That's different!" he snapped, rising to his feet.

"How is it different?"

"I'm not a two-credit mercenary with a screw loose and an itchy trigger finger!"

"Not anymore," Leia replied bluntly. Han stopped his pacing, and his shoulders sank as he glared at his wife. Leia, however, calmly held her ground. "We ran a background check on every one of those men Fett killed today. Not one of them had less than five death sentences on his head from various systems. If this is the new enemy, Han, then Fett is the new soldier we're going to need to defeat them."

"And even if there is the _remote_ chance he'll agree to join the Republic," Han hissed quietly, "what makes you think you'll be able to _control_ him?"

"He won't need controlling," she replied simply. "As long we keep him with I'Lai."

"And there's that little question, isn't there?" he said, coming to her and leaning over her. "What if Luke is right, Leia? What if she really could be dangerous?"

Leia looked up and cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't believe in that 'hokey religion'."

Han sighed. "Sweetheart, after spending the last few years with you and the kid…I've learned to believe just about anything." He ran a hand through his hair. "So…are you willing to chance I'Lai going Dark Side to keep Fett in our ranks?"

"Anyone who is a Force-sensitive can be seduced by the Dark Side, including me. The question is…what could be the one thing that would affix her to the Light?" Gazing into his hazel eyes, she answered her own question. "Love." She took a breath. "They need each other, Han. He will anchor her, and she him."

Han said nothing for a few moments. He merely noted that strange, far-away look Leia would get sometimes, usually indicating that she was linked with the Force. "There's more to this, isn't there? It isn't all just about politics, is it?"

"No."

"Mind sharing?"

She eyed him, hesitant at first, before setting her mug down. "Before the battle, when Fett demanded he take the palace and you all were set against it…Luke advised me to call to the Force for guidance."

"And?"

"I…I had a vision."

Han seated himself next to her on the couch. "What was it?"

A breath. "I…was standing in the middle of the Tatooine desert, and suddenly, a small boy came up toward me over a sand dune. He was a beautiful boy, with blond hair and…amazing blue eyes; I thought at first it might have been Luke as a child, but…his Force signature was different…" She closed her eyes and shook her head a little, and Han could tell she was beginning to tremble. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she calmed enough to continue. "As he came up to me, he looked me right in the eye and asked, 'When is a being worthy of redemption, Leia?' I answered, "When he atones for his wrongs." The little boy then said, 'And why would such a man be penitent?' I answered, 'Because he is afraid?" And he said, 'No, Leia…because he is _no longer_ afraid.'" She wiped a tear from her eye. "He said, 'We all deserve salvation, Leia--even those who seem least worthy of it—when we have finally known another's _love_. We all deserve peace.'"

She turned her face away, and Han watched her fight back her tears. "Was that all?"

"No," she whispered. She turned back and met his eyes. "He gestured to me to bend down. When I did, he touched my face and said, 'I never realized how much you look like…your grandmother…'"

Han caressed her cheek, and asked the question to which he already knew the answer. "Do you know who the little boy was?"

"Yes…" Leia forced the voiceless sobs back into her breast, but when Han wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, her emotions won over her control. Han rocked her gently as she cried into his shirt…

………………….

I'Lai sucked the air through her teeth and winced. Fett glanced up at her. "I know it hurts, I'Lai, but this patch has to be changed."

"It's all right, Boba," she murmured, smiling a tad. "Go ahead." Holding her nightdress to her chest, she took a deep breath as Fett gingerly peeled the old bacta patch off her shoulder wound. Blotting the wound with an antiseptic swath, he inspected it. "It looks better."

"I heal fast. Like you." She chuckled, and he smirked back. "How do you feel?"

"Satisfactory," he answered in his curt military fashion. Then, he sighed slightly, as he lifted his eyes to hers. "I meant…I feel fine." She chuckled again. He slid a fresh patch out of the med kit lying on the bunk, peeled off the back, and gently began to smooth it over I'Lai's wound. As he worked, his calloused palm slid off the patch backing and onto her skin. Her warmth permeated his hand, sending its sensation up his arm and all through him. Unconsciously, he traced his fingers down her back, reveling in her skin's silk under his touch, and he exhaled…

I'Lai watched his eyes travel from the wound on her shoulder to where her hands, pressed against her breasts, held her loosened nightdress…then saw him quickly avert his gaze away back to the med kit next to him, and he pulled his hand away. She reached for him, gently touching the bandage across his wound. "We should change yours, too," she offered gently, and let her fingers travel upwards to touch the bare flesh of his naked torso…

Abruptly, he stood up from the bunk. "I should check on Kai." He quickly strode out of the small cabin out into the Slave's hold.

I'Lai watched him go, her brow knit in uncertainty. She glanced around the tiny sleeping quarters, and ran her hand atop the bunk that, judging from its sound firmness, had rarely been slept upon. She listened to the sounds of the Orri Prime summer night, barely audible through the Slave's heavy plating, and sighed. She thought he had brought her and Kai to his ship so they could be alone. And now that they were…he had barely touched her, barely even looked at her. Her eyes fell on his armor piled in the corner of the cabin…and anxiety coursed through her as she readjusted the straps of her nightdress. Had he changed his mind about marrying her? Had he finally realized the scale of his sacrifice? There were been no bond rings, no certificates signed as yet…if he wanted, he could leave tomorrow. She forced her breaths to come slow and controlled, just as she forced down the fear that he no longer wanted her…

Out in the hold, Fett was consumed with his own uncertainties.

Bent over the drawer pulled out of the bulkhead, he tenderly stroked the forehead of his infant son sleeping in the makeshift crib. He gazed down at Kai's face, taking in every detail of his tiny features, and softly smiled when Kai's lip suckled in his sleep. His son, natural-born, a continuation of his line, his race. A gift from his woman…

His wife.

The thought of her, just mere meters from him, her sweet, clean scent still lingering in his mind, caused the ache in his groin to rage again. After what she had been through that day, the last thing she probably wanted was his hands on her, trapping her under him as he plunged into her, over and over…but, by the Slayer, that's what _he_ craved. He didn't just want to bed her—he wanted crush her beneath him, _possess _her, reclaim her as _his_ woman, his _mate_.

Just as the Bothan had tried to.

He clenched his eyes shut, and took a deep breath as he straightened up. The way I'Lai would look at him with such trust, such warmth, tore him apart. _If she knew how I wanted her…I would disgust her. _He had to be patient. He had almost lost her once today. If he did anything to frighten her, anything to betray that trust…he could never touch her again.

He tucked the tiny blanket gently under his son's chin when he remembered something. Quietly, he moved to a cabinet in the bulkhead, opened it, and removed a duralloy gift box from inside.

He moved back to the cabin doorway, and stopped when he saw I'Lai sitting on the bunk, her feet tucked under her, waiting for him. Even with the bruises on her face and arms, the bacta patch on her shoulder, and the streak of white in her hair, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. With the dim light of the cabin enveloping her, she seemed almost ethereal. It gently illuminated her cheekbones, her bare shoulders, the crests of her breasts. Her hair tousled over her back, a few delicate ringlets framing her face. He followed the line of her body, down her side to the curve of her hips, through the thin satin of her nightdress. But her eyes were wide, troubled. Fett's gut seized as, he thought, his earlier assumptions were correct. She _was _afraid…

"How is Kai?" she asked quietly.

"He's sleeping." Fett licked his dry lips as he stepped in. "I…" he started, his voice husky and… unsure? "I have something for you." He held the box out in front of him.

I'Lai's lips gaped at first in surprise, then smiled shyly as she took the box from his hand. She placed it in her lap, lifted the lid, and gasped. Very gently, she pulled out the small crystal sculpture of the bird he had bought on Nar Shaada.

Fett leaned against the door's edge and folded his arms, casting his eyes to the floor and clearing his throat. "It…plays music. I downloaded something into its banks. The switch on the base."

Carefully, she flicked the tiny switch. The bird began to rotate in her hand. A low, evocative melody hymned through the air, poignant in its tone, majestic in its rhythms. "What is it? Diax'kettu? Ypran?"

"It was composed by someone called…Baytoven, I think it's pronounced," he answered softly.

As the music swelled, I'Lai listened, entranced. "I've…never heard anything like this before…" She looked at Fett. "Is this Baytoven…Alderaani?"

"I doubt it," he answered, a knowing smirk curving his lip. He gestured toward the ceiling. "Watch."

As she turned her gaze upward, the hologram of the bird sailed from the sculpture, sweeping across the ceiling, its ethereal wings shimmering in the dimness, its colors melting and sliding from gold to violet to aqua, the wings folding and spreading to the intricate rhythm of the piece…

Fett's subtle smile of pride fell into a troubled frown when I'Lai turned away from him and lowered her head. He took a deep breath. "You don't like it."

She lifted her head, and turned back to him. Her eyes glistened with tears…and she smiled. "It's…it's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever given me."

He exhaled in relief, even as his brow knit. _Then why does she cry?_ he thought to himself in mild frustration. _Do all women do this?_

"Some do," she answered him aloud, a soft laugh in her voice. Fett merely curved his lip.

She set the sculpture carefully on a shelf and slowly rose from the bunk. Her nightdress clung to her form as she stepped toward him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she nestled her cheek within the curve of his shoulder. She pressed her warm, slender length against him. "Thank you," she whispered, her breath puffing delicately over his skin.

As the glide of skin through satin played across the bare flesh of his abdomen, Fett thought he was going to erupt. Her natural scent, blended with lilac, filled his head, and his breath labored as he fought for control. He tensed under her embrace, holding his hands to his sides and his eyes on the wall, a bead of sweat trickled along the scar on his cheek as he felt heat searing from his core through his skin…

She pulled back, sliding her hands to his chest, and bowed her head. "Boba?"

"Mm," he grunted.

"Why…" Her low voice broke with a soft sob.

He felt her tremble against him, and he forced his eyes from the far wall to look down on her. "What?"

When she lifted her gaze, her eyes glittered in the dim light, and she bit on her lip to keep it from shaking. "Why… won't you touch me?" she whispered.

A rush of breath broke from him. "I thought…after today…you… wouldn't want me to," he rumbled from deep within him.

A mystified smile almost crept across her lips…but then melted away, and her breath nestled in her throat when she saw the searing desire in his eyes: Dark, ravenous, the eyes of a predator chained. A flood of doubt, love, and visceral want swept through I'Lai's very core. So much devotion, strength, uncertainty, concern…but underneath pulsed a rhythm ancient, territorial, and brutally male. His breath scorched her lips as he whispered in a half-growl, half-plea, "I don't want to hurt you, I'Lai…like he tried to."

Her eyes widened in astonishment. After what she had did that day, knowing what she was capable of…and he still her saw her as fragile, breakable. But even as his concern moved her, the primal need emanating from him aroused her, stirring that primitive place within her that bridged animal passion with sentient love. "You could never hurt me, beloved," she assured him huskily. Slowly, she took his hand and slid it up, languidly over her hip, her ribs… until she cupped his palm around the fullness of her breast. She guided his thumb with her own over the hardened peak he found there, and panted against his lips, "I need you…"

His thin brace of control snapped. Fiercely, he conquered her lips in an untamed kiss, his tongue drowning in the warmth of her sweet, hungry mouth. Pulling the straps of her thin gown off her shoulders, it took what little discipline he had left not to rip it off her as his calloused hands ran over her nakedness greedily, hungrily. I'Lai's hands roved him as well, claiming his hardened body, devouring every cut of his muscles, every crease of his scars. When she boldly slipped her hand under the waistband of his loose pants and closed her fingers around his hardness, he growled into her mouth and pulled her from the floor, forcing her thighs around him, pinning her against him. His lips seared her neck to her breast, and his tongue and teeth caught her nipple as he carried her to the bunk.

There was no pretense of restraint. A reckless fumbling of clothing, a sharp gasp, and he was in her. Hot breath braised across her lips. He snared his arm under her waist and seized her against him, thrusting deep, hard. Tangling his fingers into her hair, he held her there, his black serpentine eyes burning into hers.

I'Lai panted feverishly, opening herself to every thrust that stroked her fiercely, urgently, passionately. She was rapt in his possession, unafraid of his ferocity, unashamed in her response. A maelstrom of sensation flooded through her mind as well as her body. Even as she felt him in her body, she gasped violently when she suddenly felt him in her soul. All of his essence was laid out before her, engulfing her with images, echoes, feelings…Years of swallowed grief, decades of bleak self-imposed imprisonment of his humanness. The gaping eyes of every being he had ever killed. The wailed pleas of wives and children as he dragged their men, his merchandise, out of their homes drugged, bound, beaten. The aloneness of his existence, the futility of his days, and the rage, always the rage, confined behind a barricade of cold indifference and ruthless fortitude, but always there, always smoldering…

And fear. Yes, there was fear. Fear of his own humanity, fear of almost having lost her, his son…fear of his love for her…of failing her…

Fear. Pain. Torment. Betrayal. Vengeance…

She ensnared his shadows into her core, just as she snaked her arms around his shoulders and lunged frantically against him. She fed off his darkness, feeling the fear fill her, empower her…and the voice that now slipped through her mind was not _his_, but her own…

_They will all fear me. _

"I'Lai…?"

_They have forsaken me, betrayed me, cast me aside…_

the cadence of a thousand drums pulsed in her ears

_Lust will be my beacon._

"Come back…"

_Vengeance will be my sword._

"Come back now…"

_And fear…will be my ally…_

"Come back…I'LAI!"

She gasped hard and jerked violently as she was hurled back into reality by his voice. Fett still held her, still within her. Still looked into her eyes, watching their deathly white-silver irises slowly seep back into their lush blue-green hue.

"Boba…?" she moaned. "What…" Her words were caught in her throat when she saw the deep scarlet drip from the four gashes in his shoulder. She slid her hand off him, turned her palm to her eyes…and saw his blood seep from his flesh in her nails. "No…" she whimpered, her body heaving with near hysteria, "no…no…"

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him, gently. "It's all right," he whispered into her neck.

"What happened?" she whimpered.

He lifted his head to gaze into her terrified eyes. There was no need to upset her with the details. "You went away," he murmured simply. He stroked her cheek when she began to shake under him. He lowered his eyes. "I frightened you."

"No, Boba, not at all…" The miasma of all of his primal emotions still lingered about his spirit somewhat, but was outshone by the glow of tender comfort and affection he projected to her now. The stillness, bravery, and completely commitment she saw in those dark eyes were almost too much to bear. "How can you love me, Boba?"

A question he had wanted to ask her a thousand times; A question with a thousand answers, none for which any words seemed sufficient. He slid his fingers through her hair, and murmured, "You are my wife." He began to push himself off her, with the intent of freeing her from his body's constraint…

Until she gently caught his shoulders. "No, don't go. Please."

A breath. "Are you sure, zja'iri'nae?"

She nodded, and a soft smile broke through her distress. Her heart melted in his native tongue. "What does that mean?"

Lowering himself, he pushed into her again, this time gently, and her eyelids fluttered. He brushed his lips against hers as he whispered, "My angel."

He took her lips once more, but this time the kiss was slow, tender. His rhythm was also measured, sensual, caressing her from the inside, mindful of her pleasure. Her body eased into his tempo, and she returned his caress. Breaking the kiss, she nuzzled her cheek against his, listening to the litany of his breathing when she opened her eyes.

It was only then she realized that she had left the crystal sculpture playing. As she felt the sweet tension building in herself, and could hear it building in him, she watched the holographic bird sweep along the ceiling, its colors still morphing from blue…to gold…to violet…to red…

To black…

The bird halted its path to hover above them, its ebon wings slowly beating… it opened its snakish eyes, the colors of blood and flame, and glared its fiery fury down upon her…

As Fett's body tensed and groaned with his final thrust, a single tear rolled down her cheek as she merely closed her eyes.

……………………….

Luke walked through the makeshift camp sprawled across the great lawn of I'Lai's palace, hands on hips, paying more attention to the scorched grass beneath his feet than the subdued festivity around him. Several contained campfires scattered about the site were hosting different gatherings of various sizes and guests—pilots, soldiers, human, alien, Orrians and offworlders. Unlike the uninhibited victory parties following the battles of Yavin and Endor, these gatherings were fairly restrained and quiet in respect to the recovering wounded inside the palace. Nevertheless, Luke could hear laughter and stories being told. With every party he passed came jovial invitations, all of which he politely refused with a retiring smile and a wave of his hand as he made his way toward the wooded trail just east of the palace grounds.

Just as he came upon the trail, he noted a more private affair taking place over a small fire in the near distance. He turned to see Tycho Celchu sitting on a log, smiling and laughing, with Leia's personal assistant and long time friend, Winter, seated at his side. The elegant young Alderaani woman was smiling as well, and seemed more relaxed and cheerful than he had ever seen her on duty. With a curiosity tinged with melancholy, he watched as Tycho entwined his fingers with Winter's, and brought her hand to his lips, brushing it with a gentlemanly kiss. He saw Winter smile shyly and drop her eyes, only to have Tycho touch her chin and lift her gaze back to him. They hesitated for just a brief moment while they read each other's gaze, silently seeking the other's consent, before they leaned into the other to share a soft first kiss.

Luke closed his eyes, and turned away. Careful not to disturb them, he noiselessly moved to the path, disappearing into the trees.

The undercut of ozone and smoke tainted the otherwise fragrant night summer air. He glanced skyward through the trees, with Orri Prime's three moons, in different phases, blinking through the leaves. As he walked, he tried to remember the number of gatherings he had walked away from, how many invitations, public and intimate, he had turned down during the time he had been with the Alliance…

And decided with a cheerless smile that he had lost count.

This was his choice, this life, this task to rebuild the Order. His choice to face the threats of the seen and the unseen. To restore a code that was so greatly needed in these unbalanced times. To forgo the countless needs and rituals the masses took as their legacy, their birthright…

Regret was not acceptable within the Jedi creed. But neither was uncertainty. Luke Skywalker was worn out from battling both.

His suggestion had stunned Leia, almost to the point of contention. He couldn't blame her, as it had upset him too. He could fortify his reasoning behind a code of honor and sanctify it as benevolent intention toward the good of all when, indeed, he was advocating doing the exact thing that had been done to him, and his sister…and his father. He would be ripping a family apart.

And he had insulted his sister, accused her of putting her self-importance ahead of the people's good…when, in truth, it was his own vanity he was protecting. Leia had been correct. He was afraid. Not of I'Lai herself, but of his own incapability, real or imagined, to be able to harness her tremendous natural power. A bitter smile crossed his lips. Perhaps he had begun to believe his own reputation as the savior of the galaxy, the new hope of the oppressed and vulnerable, the decreed leader of a new order, wise and just. But what was he, really? At the present moment, he considered himself no more than an egotistical, inexperienced child, conjuring thoughtless resolutions driven by panic and hubris because…

"It's too soon," he admitted to no one.

Bespin. Endor. Sidious. _Vader_…He had had no time to sift through the trauma of the events, no time to grieve. He had immediately thrown himself into his studies, his faith, and the restoration of the Jedi Temple. And he had taken on an apprentice when he himself was really little more than a padawan himself. A padawan with no teacher, no advisor, and no master.

A nearby rock looked inviting, and Luke sat. He reflected on I'Lai, remembering the moment he had first met her. How resplendent she had been in the Force, her essence a blinding beacon, calling to him even before he had entered the Dia-Orri system. He remembered how hopeful he had been, having found another like him. But that hope had been dissipating over the last months. Her destructive emotions had become almost tactile; fear, pride, frustration, shame, running like talons over his mind, and only seemed to grow more volatile under his guidance. And the Force itself became more shrouded to him, unable—or unwilling—to answer his questions, his doubts. Each time he had cast himself out into the nether-universe, seeking the dark entity of his visions and nightmares that he believed, somehow, was feeding off her, he would only return into himself empty, worn, and unaware.

And then there had been yesterday, in his office in front of the hologram of his friend and teacher, when he had looked into young Ben's eyes…

He shook it off, and raised his head to stare into the darkened wood, only half listening to the surveyor crafts high within the atmosphere. In a voice low, clear, and completely forthright, Luke said, "I don't know what to do."

"There's only one thing that can be done, Luke."

Luke's head snapped over his shoulder. Slowly, he rose to his feet, knitting his brow as he stared at the blue-hued apparition of a striking young Jedi. "Ben?"

Obi Wan Kenobi stood behind him, his face fresh and lightly bearded, his red-gold hair just brushing the collar of his Jedi robes. He stared at Luke earnestly, intensity glittering in his teal eyes. "Once one has drawn from the Dark Side, forever will it dominate their fate."

The young Jedi stepped toward his dead master, shaking his head. "Ben, I don't understand—"

"You and Leia took priority, you had to be hidden, kept safe, protected from the Emperor." Obi Wan sighed heavily, his shoulders bowing, and he clenched his eyes shut. "I couldn't leave you behind alone, I couldn't draw attention by leaving Tatooine. I couldn't chase a ghost…I had no proof." He looked at Luke again. "I…had hoped that it would never come to this, I hoped it had…just been…a nightmare."

"Ben," Luke breathed, "you're not making sense."

Obi Wan wiped his beard with his hand, and paced slowly. "It was during the Clone Wars. Your mother and father had been married secretly for many months…and Anakin was beginning his Fall." Luke swallowed hard, and Obi Wan stepped toward him. "By this time, Anakin had been decorated with the highest honors, and promoted as Palpatine's personal guard. Even as his Master, I was barred from seeing him. But Padme would message me, and we would meet to discuss our suspicions. The last time we met, she was terrified. I was worried about her, I tried to assure her that once the war was over, he would be the man he once was, and if he ever tried to harm her…she should come to me." He sat on the rock. "The next day, I was sent on a mission to Tatooine to fight the Separatists' takeover of Mos Espa. And the night after the battle…" He closed his eyes and turned away.

Luke sat next to him. "What, Ben?"

Ben took a deep breath. "I had a dream…that Padme came to me in the night…and…" His voice trailed off as the disgrace consumed him.

Luke's breath stuck in his throat as his fleshed bristled. "Leia had the same dream, Ben."

Obi Wan's turned fiercely. "What did she see? Did she tell you, Luke?"

Luke nodded. "She told me she had dreamt of you and Mother, but that the woman wasn't actually Mother. She was disguised as her, possibly through means of the Force."

"The Dark Side," Ben whispered. "I woke with the taint of it on me, it permeated my soul like the stench of decayed flesh. I couldn't remember any of what went on during the night, but…I knew I had been with someone." He glanced to the stars before closing his eyes. "That I had been…used." He stood, and paced again. "I held your mother in the highest regard as a stateswoman and diplomat, and I had never thought of her in that manner. In my shame, I never told her or anyone about that night. Time passed…and Anakin had finally succumbed to Palpatine's seduction. I arranged your mother's escape, I was there for your birth, and her death…and then, Anakin and I battled." He stopped, unwilling to go into the horrific detail with the son of his adversary. "I then brought you here, and stayed to watch over you, Anakin's boy…and all the while I knew, in my soul, that somewhere out in the galaxy…there was a child of my own."

Luke stared at the ground, stunned, before looking back up at Ben. "Your child is I'Lai."

Obi Wan met his eyes. "Like I have said in the past, your insight serves you well."

Luke exhaled sharply as an exultant smile started to form. "Ben, I'Lai is your daughter! This is wonderful—"

"Do not mistake my acknowledgement of the truth for joy, Luke," Obi Wan stated thickly, almost icily. "Yes, I'Lai is my child—My seed was stolen from me in order to create…this _abomination._"

"What?" Luke whispered.

Those teal eyes that had become so hauntingly recognizable to Luke bore into his, and actually chilled him to his core. "I'Lai was conceived and brought forth through means of Sith biomancy. Created to be a living conduit for the Dark Side of the Force, an agent of evil."

"You're wrong, Ben," Luke countered breathlessly albeit unconvincingly, since he was still reeling from the revelation. "She has an overwhelming capacity for good. She's freed the people of her world, built them homes, towns—"

"And they would do anything for her, correct? Including _die _for her?" Obi Wan asked simply. "Or _kill _for her?" Luke gaped at him. "The precipice that divides benevolence from oppression is a blade's edge, Luke. As is the Dark and the Light."

He simply shook his head. "She is no abomination."

"Then explain why she can do the things she does," Obi Wan pressed. "Tell me how a novice can harness such power. Tell me why every time she touches the Force, she grows stronger, and more unpredictable—"

"I can help her, Ben!" Luke exclaimed.

"Tell me," Obi Wan continued, glaring into Luke's eyes, "why men will go at each other's throats for her, and give up everything for her…including _you_."

Luke froze, his jaw slacked in shock and shame at his Master's words. Slowly, he sat back down on the rock. Obi Wan stepped toward him, his tone softer now, understanding. "You've been obsessed with her ever since you met her, Luke. Obsessed with her bearing, her innate power, her beauty. You dream about her at night…and you have just offered to spend the next few years in complete isolation with her, training her." He crouched in front of his padawan, looking up into his face. "She would infect you, Luke, drive you mad with desire for her, and bring you to the Dark Side."

Luke shook his head. "She's not evil, Ben."

"Not yet. But she will be. It is what she was created to be, and she will fall."

Luke stared blankly at his Master. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

Looking directly into Luke's eyes, Obi Wan declared quietly, "You must destroy her."

Luke took a deep breath, let it out, and murmured, "No."

"Luke—"

"I won't kill her, Obi Wan. I will not kill a wife and mother."

Obi Wan set his jaw firm, and narrowed his eyes. "You would put the entire galaxy in imminent peril of apocalypse?"

Luke held his ground. "I would find another way to protect it other than killing _your _daughter, Obi Wan."

Obi Wan rose to his feet. "Luke, you've seen her count! If she were allowed to continue, the crimes of Sidious would pale in comparison to the destruction she would bring forth!"

"Then I will face it when it comes!" Luke roared, rising to his feet and glaring at Obi Wan head on. "I will face it as a Jedi should!"

"You could protect the people now, Luke, by removing this threat—"

"Like you told me to kill my own father?" Luke hissed through clenched teeth. "Tell me, Ben, is this what the Jedi really are, the sacred keepers of secrets and lies? Self-righteous assassins in the dark, eradicating those who are too strong, too different? Is _that_ what you would have done had you known my father would fall to the Dark Side? Would you have _killed_ him before it happened?"

Kenobi glared into Luke's crystal blue eyes. "Yes. Had I known, I would have struck him down _before_ the blood of a thousand Jedi stained his hands."

"Even though he was your friend, your student?"

"My actions would have been proper within the Jedi's oath."

"Then the oath needs to be changed," Luke rumbled from deep in his chest. "Tell me when, exactly, a Jedi's oath to protect the people became more valuable than the people themselves? When did our codes and doctrines and dogma become more important than mothers, fathers, children…_love_?" He stepped back, still holding Obi Wan in his glare. "If becoming a Jedi is my destiny, then THIS is also part of my destiny, and I will not cower from it!"

"If that is your decision," Obi Wan replied stoically, folding his hands into his sleeves, "then I cannot offer you any more of my help."

Luke narrowed his eyes at his old Master. "Who said I wanted it?"

Kenobi closed his eyes, and heaved a sigh. "The Skywalker line. Proud, assured, and forever reckless." He lifted his sad gaze back to his apprentice. "Farewell, Luke." And with that, the apparition turned his back and walked into the wood, his ethereal aura fading with every step, until it blinked away in the darkness.

Luke stood still, clenching his fists at his side, his breathing heavy and hard. He looked into the heavens through the trees, squeezing his eyes shut tight to keep the tears back, and to keep the howl of despair back into his throat…

"And thus, the Old Jedi Order truly ends, and the New Jedi Order is born."

With a sharp gasp, Luke whirled around at the sound of the small voice. Behind him, another blue-edged apparition sat on a log. A blond little boy, wearing the same dusty farm gear Luke himself had worn in his former life, seemed deep in his tinkering of a landspeeder dampering module…but not so preoccupied that he couldn't look up from his work at the young Jedi. "I don't even have words to tell you how very proud I am of you right now, Luke."

Luke gaped at the boy, slowly stepping toward him. Despite the boy's young age, he spoke in a manner vastly beyond his years, with a resonance and an elegant cadence to his voice that was very familiar. He reached out with a Force tendril. "Father?"

Little Anakin smiled lovingly. "Hello, boy. I'm so glad to see you again."

"Father," Luke breathed, crouching before him, "why are you a child?"

"On the other side, one may choose the form from when one was happiest in his life," Anakin answered simply, continuing to turn a nut inside the module he held. He glanced away from his work, giving Luke a sly smile. "Or…would you prefer something more familiar?" He suddenly sprang two meters in height, his skin morphing into black synthleather, his drab farm clothes blackening and lengthening into flowing robes and a cape…and the still forest air was scraped by the harsh mechanical wheeze of his respirator as Darth Vader loomed over and glared down upon Luke…

Luke swallowed. "Not really."

"All right then," Vader's resonant bass chuckled through his mask, "I'll meet you half way." The enormous form of Vader shrank many inches in height and girth, and the robes shortened into a dark tunic and trousers. The mask dissipated from his face, the helm lightened into a full head of blond hair, and Luke found himself looking into what could have been his own blue eyes. "Better?"

Luke returned his father's bright smile. "Better."

"Don't be angry with him, Luke. Even here, some of the Jedi are still too deeply rooted in the old ways. He means only the best, but…Obi Wan is till clouded by…" He paused. "Guilt, shame…a great many things."

"And you?"

"Yes." Anakin smiled again, a tad sadly. "It is difficult for him. Having dedicated his life protecting my children from the Emperor, and from myself, he is now faced with the cruel irony that it is his own flesh and blood who may bring about the galaxy's final destruction."

Luke blanched. "Will she?"

"She has the potential. But as Yoda was so want to point out, 'Always in motion is the future.' It is difficult to tell, even here." Anakin looked intently into his son's eyes. "But Obi Wan was right in one thing. There is a storm coming, Luke, the likes this galaxy has not seen since the ancient days, since the days of Exar Kun. And I'Lai will answer the call of the Dark Side, make no mistake. It is not a matter of if, but when."

The young Jedi bowed his head in frustration. "Then what do I do, Father?"

Anakin placed his ethereal hands on Luke's shoulders. "Prepare for it."

"How?"

"You must learn the ways of the Sith."

His eyes became huge. "WHAT?"

Anakin shook his head. "Do not mistake me, son. I am not telling you to become a Sith. I am telling you to learn their ways. Study their lore. Know them inside and out. Through knowledge of your enemy comes victory over them. That is something the Old Order could never seem to understand." He slid his hands off Luke's shoulders to step a few paces away. "I was a Jedi, educated in their ways, skilled in their arts of combat." He turned over his shoulder. "Why do you think I was so damned good at killing them?"

The chill had returned. "Where would I find this lore."

"The Imperial Palace. Palpatine's private library."

"The Imperial Palace is under Republic lockdown, Father."

Anakin smirked, and cocked an eyebrow in the same deft manner as Leia often did. "I'm sure you can obtain clearance from your sister." His face became serious again. "But learning the ways of the Sith will not be a quick undertaking. It will take, quite possibly, years."

Luke scowled slightly. "If I'Lai is already tainted by the Dark Side, then we don't have years."

"Precisely. Therefore, you will have to buy some time."

"How?"

Anakin casually paced back toward his son. "The answer lies on a planet called Myrkr. You must fly there tonight."

"And what am I looking for?" Luke asked.

"Believe me, son," Anakin replied, "you'll know it when you find it." Pause. "And when you do, you must bring it back here to I'Lai. It will buy you the few years you'll need to rebuild the Order and prepare yourself."

"A lot can happen in a few years, Father."

"Indeed. But there is one thing I can assure you, Luke. And that is…those years will bring you the help you'll need. From, what seems at the present, to be a very unlikely source."

Anakin suddenly shot a look over his shoulder, as though responding to an unheard call. He turned back to Luke. "My time here is finished, Luke." He smiled warmly. "Your mother's calling me."

Luke smiled, even with the touch of tears in his eyes. "Tell her…hello for me."

Anakin placed a fatherly hand on his son's shoulder. "She is very, very proud of you, Luke. And of…Leia." Sadness misted his father's eyes for a moment before he raised them again. "Luke, do one thing for me, would you?"

"What's that?"

"Tell Leia…congratulations. And that I approve."

"I will, Father."

Anakin smiled, and squeezed Luke's shoulder before turning away and walking into the woods. However, he stopped, and turned again. "One thing, Luke."

"Yes?"

"When you begin learning the Sith lore…begin with I'Lai's name."

And with that, Anakin Skywalker's presence dissolved into the trees.


End file.
